


This Darkness We Know

by ABookAndACoffee



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: A Madness So Discreet Inspired, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Blood and Gore, Crime Fighting, Crimson Peak Inspired, Detective!Lucien, Drug Use, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, INDEFINITE HIATUS, Incest, M/M, Mental Institutions, Multi, Murder, Mystery, On Hiatus, Past Sexual Abuse, Seer!Elain, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-01-18 02:57:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 48,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12379464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABookAndACoffee/pseuds/ABookAndACoffee
Summary: In a dark place, discarded by society and forgotten by her family, Elain finds an unlikely savior. A man named Lucien comes to find her to put her to use in an attempt to repair his own troubled past."She was so kind, she saw so much, she only wanted to help. And for that, she had been punished. Led down here under false pretenses, and then left to rot. The idea that a strange man would come and lead her from here seemed like something that the old Elain might have imagined. Once upon a time.He watched her with an expression that she had forgotten existed. Curious, with a compassion that might nearly match her own, were it not tempered by tension. He didn’t trust her. She couldn’t blame him, considering the tales that had been told about her."There are going to be taboo/triggering topics in this fic, but they are not tagged for spoiler reasons!!!!





	1. Leaving the Asylum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [YouLookGoodInLeather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouLookGoodInLeather/gifts).



> This fanfic is 50% the fault of @squaddreamcourt and 50% the fault of book and movie consumption lately. I really have no idea how many parts it will end up being.

Elain woke on the cold, hard floor as she had every morning for months now. Placing her palms on the uneven stones that made up her bed, she pushed herself up to a sitting position. The damp of her cell had soaked into her clothes so long ago that she had no idea of it being any different. She was so used to her miserable surroundings that she no longer knew that life could be otherwise. The cold of her cell made up her reality, and the warmth of the sun that shone outside this building was merely a memory. It may as well have been a children’s story, for all the good it did her. 

She was sure that the sun still appeared each morning. She had faith in it, though she could no longer see it with her own eyes. 

Those long months ago, Elain had been thrown in this cell. Abandoned, alone, she tried to tell anyone who would listen that she was not a witch. What she saw in her mind was going to pass, tragedy and horror of the worst kind, if no one would heed her words. 

But no one heard her, or at least no one who was willing to listen. And so the events that woke her in the night continued to happen, and the idea that she had the gall, the audacity to try to warn those around her made everyone afraid and attribute the most senseless of tragedies to her. 

She was gentle, a candle that lit up the dark, yet everyone around her avoided her gaze, pretended they hadn’t heard her speak. She would wish them to burn, if she didn’t still retain some sense of justice and compassion. Elain would never have wished harm on anyone, even those who had put her here. 

And yet. 

Her sisters had been taken from her, her father passed in a tragedy on the sea, and so Elain was truly adrift. The woman who had been the necessary voice in her condemnation lived freely, committing atrocities as if there would never be any accounting for it. 

This was the exception to Elain’s generosity. The one who had been the final word to sentence her to this place, who had convinced her father that it might do her good to spend some time away from society. That woman, she might have the nerve to take vengeance on. 

Elain heard the shoes approach her cell. It wasn’t the normal time for her to receive a meal, and so she paused before lowering herself back to her previous position. From her vantage point on the ground, she watched as the feet stopped, turned towards her. 

The shoes were polished, had never spent much time in a place like this. She pulled her thin cotton shift closer to her narrowed frame. The shoes would tell her all she needed to know. 

The man was well-off, but not so much that he could pay someone to come down here for him. His pant-legs were tailored, but slightly frayed at the seams. When he stepped in a puddle (of excrement, no doubt), he did not shy away, but stood firm. He probably came from a family of means, but preferred to work his own way through life. 

Intrigued, Elain turned on her back to catch a glimpse of his face. 

His jacket matched his pants, in a predictably boring way. But what little light there was reflected off his hair, a deep auburn that she wanted to wind her fingers through. When she noticed his eyes, she felt she had understood the last piece of the puzzle. 

His left eye was gone, and in its place a scar stretched from his forehead to midway down his cheek. He didn’t bother wearing a eyepatch, so Elain figured that vanity was not a major aspect of his personality. He smelled of soap, green and fresh, like cut grass. 

She remembered such things, vaguely. In this remembrance, she realized that the sunshine and flowers of her imagination were not mere fairy tales. It caused a pang in her chest, to understand that she had been deprived of this for the rest of her life. She clutched at the spot, bunching up the fabric of her cheap shift and tried to push it down, far down into the parts of her that she no longer remembered existed. 

“Is this her?” The stranger’s voice came out strong, clear, breaking the silence with the subtlety of a knife. 

“Yes, sir, that’s her alright,” the jailor said. “She’s the one that goes on and on about horrible things, though no one has been able to tell if she’s right. Just as well she’s down here, she’d surely bother anyone who thought of themselves as polite company, if you catch my meaning.” The small man let out a chuckle that died when the man with red hair refused to respond. 

“And you, my gentle doe. Do you enjoy yourself down here, in the dark?” 

Elain pushed herself up to a stand, meeting the stranger’s gaze as best she could. She cocked her head, waiting for him to continue. 

“They say that you know things.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “They say that you see horrible, terrible things, down here in the dark. And before. That’s why you are here, isn’t it?” 

“I see the truth,” Elain answered. Her voice came out small, so much smaller than she was used to it. It had become worn with disuse, which she hadn’t realized was possible. It seemed that many injustices occurred in this world, injustices she previously would have thought impossible. The latest was merely that her previously small presence had been reduced even further, that she might be made even smaller by a world with no use for her. 

“And how would you like to leave this place?” 

Elain’s shoulders shook as she laughed, though she made no noise. 

“You don’t believe me. I understand. Jailor, open this cell.” 

Elain backed away, pressing herself against the far wall of her cell as the man with the keys open her door, the hinges creaking as it swung open. The sense of freedom was nearly enough to strangle her, and her brow furrowed as the man with red hair strode inside. 

She was so kind, she saw so much, she only wanted to help. And for that, she had been punished. Led down here under false pretenses, and then left to rot. The idea that a strange man would come and lead her from here seemed like something that the old Elain might have imagined. Once upon a time. 

He watched her with an expression that she had forgotten existed. Curious, with a compassion that might nearly match her own, were it not tempered by tension. He didn’t trust her. She couldn’t blame him, considering the tales that had been told about her. 

Her first night here, Elain had broken furniture and bones, trying to explain to anyone who would listen that there would be an accident at the train station. The orderlies had restrained her, gagged her when she couldn’t stop herself from screaming about the tragedy that was going to befall that place. 

When news of the crash reached the asylum, the doctor had a difficult time finding orderlies who would help him care for this new patient. They all watched her with fear-laced interest, keeping their distance. As if her prophecies could somehow be transferred to them. 

The stranger held a hand out to her. “Come with me. If you can prove your worth to me, I will take care of you. I will be responsible for you.” 

Elain stared at his hand as if it were a foreign bug, an intruder on her disturbed solitude. 

“I am a detective. I hear that your… talent, is to know of tragedies before they occur. I wonder, can you tell me about things that have already passed? Can you give me clues about what is now history?” 

Elain stared into the man’s good eye, waiting for it to waiver or betray some hint that he was lying. Plenty of people might take advantage of a woman in her position. Plenty of people like her fell through the cracks of places like this, never to be seen again. 

Elain nodded. 

He glanced back at the jailor. “I will stake my career and reputation on you, if you will trust me.” 

Elain shook her head slightly, the terror at being outdoors nearly as strong as her desire had once been. The outside world had condemned her to this place for what she knew, and while it had previously been a comfort, it had become a terror. The idea that her own father, her flesh and blood, could tell a judge to send her here - it was too much too bear. And while she wanted out, she no longer had a sense of anywhere that would be truly safe. 

But this man, he seemed honest. He seemed to need her help, and if it were merely a question of hiding a knife in the sleeves or folds of her dress in the event that she needed to use it, she would do it. She would find her way, with or without him. 

“My name is Lucien. I am pleased to meet you, Elain.” 

Elain lifted her hands, allowing him to take her life and future into his own.


	2. Chapter 2 - Moving in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain moves in with Lucien, meets his mysterious roommate, and they try to adjust to life under the same roof when they are interrupted.

Elain wasn’t sure how Lucien had managed to secure her release from the asylum she had been condemned to. Perhaps he had bought her. It would surely be better than what she watched happen to others, who went down a dark hallway and then returned with bandages crudely applied to their temples. They came back lacking all sense of personality. But with the surgery, along with losing their sense of self, they also lost their fear, their pain. 

A part of Elain envied the patients who had been chosen for this procedure, and wondered why she had never had the opportunity. She reached up to her own temples, wondering what it might be like, to go into that room, and to come out having lost all of the best and worst parts of herself. 

The carriage jolted over uneven ground. 

Lucien was talking to her. She blinked and looked over to him, searching her memory for any snatches of conversation she had heard but had not been conscious of. Yes, there it was. He was talking about his home. This part of the city had burned over a decade ago and was still in the process of rebuilding. It had all happened when she was a child, but she was aware that the city still bore its wounds with a sense of pride. 

Elain wished she had the fortitude to do the same. 

“And the restorations have been… slow in coming. Only those who can pay exorbitant prices are attended to quickly,” Lucien finished bitterly. He watched outside the window of the carriage, as if unsure that the driver knew where to go. He noticed that she was staring and turned back towards her. 

“Don’t worry, your room is complete and furnished.” He looked over her again. Before they had left Lucien had handed Elain a plain homespun dress that swamped her gaunt frame. When he offered her a coat that had obviously been made for a larger woman, she had refused. Better to feel the cold, to relish in the sting, than to hide herself away any longer. The moment she had grasped his hand, Elain had decided that she would make use of her gift, and suffer trying. If that meant being open to the elements so that she would be receptive to whatever messages she needed to hear, so be it. 

Elain never knew that she was a creature who craved contradiction, who would welcome discomfort, but she wondered what she might make of herself, now that she was out. With a pang, she remembered her father’s passing, her sisters’ suffering. 

Nesta would never admit what the blow of his loss had done to her, and Feyre labored under the assumption that their family was reparable. But when Elain had wandered out in the night to answer the call of those who had been lost, she had ventured too far. 

The carriage jolted to a stop and Elain braced herself. She was unused to movement like this. Along with solitude, a sense of stillness had become routine. In a woman who had once been so dynamic, this simple act, the stopping of a carriage, was enough to remind her that she was no longer in a cell. 

Elain stepped from the carriage on her own, forgetting to wait to take Lucien’s hand. It had been so long, she thought, since anyone had aided her, that she had forgotten to expect it. And once, she would have waited, hands crossed neatly in her lap. She would have been put off, even, if he had taken too long in assisting her from the step of the carriage. 

Too late, Elain remembered one of the hazards of stepping from a horse-drawn carriage. Her shoes, which Lucien had bought for her, were now covered in what she hoped was mud. Lucien frowned from where he stood, holding the door open and his hand out. She took it, hoping to salvage some part of this moment, and he led her up the steps to his door without commenting. 

“I hope that you come to make yourself at home, here,” he said as he opened the door. A housekeeper approached him to take his hat, as if she had been waiting to do nothing other than that her entire life. She nodded and took his coat from his shoulders, remarking with curiosity that Elain wore none. Even her head was uncovered, which she realized with a start was highly inappropriate. Oh well, no matter. It wouldn’t take long for others to realize that she didn’t quite belong. It never did, since she had realized what she was capable of. 

“This is the housekeeper, Mrs. Bates. She will see to you, you just need to call for her.” 

Elain lowered her head a fraction, enough to acknowledge the woman, but not enough to seem like she would be familiar with her. No, that sort of relationship would only get Mrs. Bates hurt, she knew. Best to keep her distance. 

Lucien turned and gestured for her to follow. “I’ll show you to your room.” 

Elain paused and looked to Mrs. Bates. 

“I want to make sure you are comfortable, Elain. And I don’t think the way to do that is by shoving you off on the servants.” He nodded. “No offense, Mrs. Bates. But Elain is in a rather delicate state at the moment.” 

“Of course, sir. I wouldn’t presume anything.” She curtsied and exited the narrow hallway, skirts bustling. 

“Shall we?” Lucien turned without waiting for a response, and Elain followed him up the stairs. They were narrow, light pouring in from a window at the top. She assumed it would overlook a courtyard, some place where all the residents of this building would take in the fresh air. Well, she thought, it was as fresh as one could expect in a place like this. 

Elain shoved down the memory of a garden, of sunlight, of laughing at a story that Nesta was reading out loud to her as she planted flowers for the spring. 

Lucien waited for her at the top of the stairs and she hurried to meet him. “Your room is this door, second on the left. Mine is on the right, just over there. You can wash up here.” Elain followed his gestures as he made her familiar with the brownstone. 

Her eyes paused on the remaining doors that Lucien had failed to explain. 

“Don’t worry about those.” 

“What don’t you want to tell me?” They were the first words Elain had spoken to him since they had left the asylum. Her voice came out softer than she expected, considering how blunt she was being. 

Lucien paused and seemed annoyed for a moment until he wiped the expression from his face. “There is someone else who lives here. You’ll meet him soon enough. That door leads to his rooms,” - Lucien indicated the door next to his own - “And the other rooms are still under repair. As I told you earlier. However, he doesn’t take kindly to uninvited guests, and I don’t want you injuring yourself on any damaged flooring, so it’s best to avoid those.” 

Elain placed her hand on the doorknob leading to her room. A place of her own. She searched herself for any indication of how long she would be able to claim the space, but her abilities were fickle things. 

“Dinner is at 7. There should be a couple of dresses in there for you. But we can get you something more fitting a…” His voice trailed off as he struggled to name her. “More befitting an assistant, that is to say.” 

With a quick bow, Lucien returned downstairs, and Elain leaned over the railing to listen as he began giving orders for dinner, inquiring after the post and other household duties. It had been so long since she had heard the normal workings of a household that she waited, just for a moment, closing her eyes and remembering the sound of her father doing the same. 

Before the fire, it had been her mother who would have taken on those duties. It felt so distant that she wondered if she had imagined a life like that, a house full of her mother’s laughter, Nesta arguing that she was indeed old enough, at 10, to manage some responsibility. 

The memory faded, but not before she was able to remind herself that it was indeed a memory, and not a trick her mind was playing on her. 

Entering her room, Elain took stock. It was plain, but a far cry from the rough stone walls and cold iron bars that had made up her previous home. Opening the wardrobe, she saw two plain dresses waiting for her. Choosing one, she began to prepare for dinner. She had hours to go, and yet she knew this would take time. 

She stood before a tall mirror, cataloguing how she had changed. Her cheeks had developed shadows, her skin a pale shade she might have described as ghastly before. Understanding how life tended to take the spring from one’s step, the way that change was inevitable and nearly always unwelcome, Elain forgave herself and prepared herself for dinner in a home that attended to such things with formality she hadn’t known in ages. 

Hours later, walking downstairs, she stopped before she reached the ground floor. A man was leaning against the doorway to the dining room, too casual to be part of the household staff, yet not quite sure of his place. He turned to her and they watched one another without a word. Elain failed to even breathe, and she struggled for those parts of her that helped to understand things she shouldn’t know. 

Nothing. She had no impression of this man, other than that he was as much a part of this world as much as he seemed to not want to be. 

Elain wondered if he could tell that she would eventually know far more about him than he wanted. 

“This is Azriel,” Lucien said, coming from the drawing room. He tilted his head towards the dark-complected man. “He is also staying here, with me.” Lucien adjust his jacket. “With us, that is.” 

Azriel’s suit was of a nondescript grey, nearly causing him to blend in with the shadows. He pushed himself away from the wall and approached Elain. He held his hand out to grasp hers and placed his lips on her fingers. It was barely a whisper of a touch, and she shuddered. 

“Pleased to meet you. I have heard about your… talents.” He glanced over at Lucien, who seemed ready to jump between them. “Don’t worry. I understand those of us who are a bit closer to the Devil than we’d like to be.” 

Elain curtsied. “If it please you, I’d rather not be associated with such an idea. My talents lie in helping others, not condemning them.” 

Azriel released her hand. “We’ll see about that, by the time our mutual friend Lucien here is done with you.” He extended a hand, inviting her to walk ahead of him. “Ladies first.” 

Elain lowered her head once more, deciding that she did not like this man in grey. 

After they were seated, dished were served to them underneath steaming silver domes. Elain had once been used to this, but she had somehow forgotten what it meant to eat a meal with the aid of a fork and knife. Eyeing them suspiciously, she picked them up and gripped them in her fists. 

Azriel watched her carefully, and she wished that he would concern himself with his own affairs. If Lucien wanted to take in strays, that was fine. But she didn’t want to have to associate with the others, if it could be helped. 

Lucien led most of the conversation, that meal. He knew Azriel, and he knew Elain, but he could only do so much to smooth the way between them if they were not going to make themselves willing. Elain nearly pitied him the effort. It would take time, and it seemed that fate was not going to afford them that. 

A manservant came in, bearing news on a small silver tray. It held an envelope addressed to Lucien, and Elain felt dread and excitement in the pit of her stomach. So, this is how it would begin. Just underneath the facade of a gentile dinner, the real purpose for her being here would make itself known. 

After thanking the man for his assistance, Lucien opened the envelope. It was brief, apparently, as he set it back down quickly and set his napkin on the table. 

“Elain, I’m sorry to interrupt your first meal, but we have work to do.”


	3. The First Crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucien and Elain visit their first crime scene together, where he witnesses firsthand how her powers work and is startled at his own reaction to them. Meanwhile, Elain unravels small pieces of Lucien's past.

“Azriel, I’m sure you understand,” Lucien said as he pushed his chair out from the table. He seemed eager to leave, and Azriel waved him away. 

“Go. Do what you need and then come back to me,” Azriel answered. He glanced at Elain, but she made no comment. 

Elain stood from the table before Lucien could pull her chair out for her, but he quickly went to the doorway to lead her out. Yes, that was another thing that men did for women. Next time, she would remember. When she had gone into the asylum, the spring crocuses were just pushing their way through the thin layer of snow, and now the decorations strung in trees told her it was near Christmas. It may as well have been a different world, for how foreign it felt. But she would adjust. She would do better. 

As they walked to the foyer, Lucien turned to speak. “I should have prepared you for this. I apologize. I think that for now, it might be best if you stay on outside the area of the crime scene. I had mentioned to my superiors that I was considering locating outside assistance, but haven’t had time to prepare them for who I will be bringing with me.” 

“Who will you say I am?” 

“Well, I can’t lie. Not if I want you to work with me later, around these people. Perhaps I will say you are a consultant. Consulting in what way, they need not know.” 

“A consultant?” 

“Yes,” Lucien said, “That’s what you will be. And it will come with pay, so there need be no worries concerning our relationship. You are my employee. We don’t want any questions as to why you are living with me. And with Azriel. But you should be prepared for those sorts of questions.” 

“I would prefer not waiting outside the crime scene, if it’s the same to you,” Elain said as she reached behind herself, Mrs. Bates helping her on with her wool coat. She noticed Mrs. Bates raise an eyebrow at her, but ignored it. 

“It’s not the same to me, quite. May I ask why?” Lucien was fastening the buttons on his own jacket and took his hat from Mrs. Bates. 

“I’d rather dive right in, so to speak. I’ve been trapped. For too long.” Elain exited the door and as she took the hand of the coachman to help her inside, Lucien considered her words. She knew she would have to speak quickly. When he settled onto the bench across from her, she began to make her case. 

“I would prefer to be of use. I felt like I was really going mad, down there, where I lived.” Lucien winced at the word _lived_ , and she took note of that hint of pity. “I need to know that everything going on in my head is real. Ever since I realized I had this power, I’ve spent my life with people telling me I am imagining things. That I’m wrong, that my gift is from the Devil. I know it isn’t, but I need to see. For myself.” 

Considering her own gender and what any normal gentleman would say about a lady attending a crime scene, she added, “And you don’t need to worry about me being squeamish. I’ve seen my fair share of death.” 

Lucien waited for her to continue, to explain the death she had seen, but she folded her hands in her lap, eyes leveled on his as she paused. Measuring, calculating if more explanation was needed. She would give him whatever he needed to make him feel comfortable in allowing her this access, but she would not give him her entire past. Not yet, if ever. She assumed that he had done some searching into her history, that he had access to privileged records, but she would not give him any more than what those forms and certificates might tell him. 

After a beat, he acquiesced. “I trust you know yourself well enough to know what you can handle. There is another matter, however.” 

“Yes?” 

“Even if you can withstand whatever sight we may encounter, I need you to be aware of a few rules. Just some protocols that you need to observe before I can let you onto the scene.” 

Elain listened carefully as Lucien explained; he would interview witnesses, never to ask leading questions, while Elain was only to observe. When they entered the scene, she was not to touch anything unless he gave her express permission. She was there to use her powers, such as they were, but she was not there in an official capacity. This was a trial-run. He wouldn’t send her back to where she came from, but he wasn’t going to place his full trust in her until he could be sure of her. 

She realized the enormous amount of trust he was placing in her by bringing her to the scene of a crime, a young woman whose most recent residence was a sanitarium for the insane. And yet she had to have the same amount of trust, a single young woman whose family had no idea where to find her. 

“I understand,” Elain said as he finished. “I have never tried to focus my visions before, so it might take some practice. I might need time. Please, be patient.” 

When the carriage pulled up in front of a home, Elain was startled to see that she recognized the neighborhood. She froze for a moment, looking around for any familiar structures. But no. While they were in an affluent area of the city, they were nowhere near any of her own family members. 

There were police officers gathered around the entrance to the mansion, the double doors wide open and letting in the cold. Each of the officers tipped their hats in deference to Lucien, and then to Elain. She saw them exchange glances, and was grateful that this time, it was merely because they knew her to be a woman. Not because they thought her to be a witch. She realized that there was a certain security in near-anonymity. 

As she approached the front steps, Elain brushed her gloved hand over the bushes that lined the walkway, now reduced to branches and roots in the winter. A woman’s voice rose above the others inside the home, and Elain honed her senses in on it. 

The widow. 

The knowledge came to her as if she had already met the woman. Inside, they would find a man well into his 60s, still dressed for dinner, yet no longer in this world. 

“Lucien!” the woman exclaimed as they entered. “Oh thank goodness you are here, I’m trying to figure out what happened, I just don’t understand.” She rushed to him in a bustle of silk skirts and clattering jewelry, clasping his hands in her own. “He was fine, we were eating dinner and then he had to lie down. I told these officers that something is wrong, he wasn’t even ill or anything, he took a walk every evening, in fact, on his doctor’s recommendation. Charles was so conscientious about his health, you know that…” 

The woman backed away and looked at Elain from head to toe. “Who have you brought with you? Why is there a stranger in my house right now, Lucien?” 

“I apologize, Beatrice. This is Elain. She is my new consultant. Assistant, if you will.” 

Elain lowered herself in a small curtsey, opting for quiet politesse. 

Beatrice let out a small sigh. “I see.” 

“Tell me about this evening, Bea. What happened?” Lucien guided her to a settee in the foyer that was as large as his entire brownstone. 

“He didn’t even finish his wine this evening, complained of a headache.” The new widow wiped away a tear. “He left the dinner table early to go lie down. When I found him, he was on the floor, convulsing, and I… I called for help, but then he was gone. He had been so tired the last few days, even a little confused, but I didn’t think anything of it. I think his work has been a bit stressful, he was spending late evenings at the office.” 

Lucien placed a hand on her shoulder and she pitched forward, sobs racking her body as she cried on his chest. He wrapped his hands around the woman and Elain waited, glancing up the stairs towards the bedroom. She didn’t want to seem eager, but the idea of having a purpose, of being of assistance to someone, was tantalizing. 

“Beatrice, we need to see him. Elain and I.” 

The woman eyed Elain suspiciously. “What does she need to see him for?” She stood with a start. “I need to tidy the room, we weren’t expecting guests, I don’t want a stranger to see Charles like that.” Beatrice dissolved into sobs again, and Lucien took her into his arms patiently, stroking her hair. 

All of Elain’s focus then went to this sign of tenderness between them. He was using the woman’s Christian name, she clearly trusted him above everyone else in the house, had been waiting for him. It seemed that whatever she thought she knew about this man who wore trousers that needed mending and didn’t care if he stood in shit, who had a history of saving young women from sanitariums, there was surely more to learn. 

Beatrice pulled away from Lucien. “You can go see him. Please don’t…” Her voice trailed off. 

“We will do right by him, Bea. You know you can trust me on that account.” Nodding his head towards the wide, intricately-carved staircase, Lucien invited Elain to follow him. 

She kept silent, knowing that he would share what he wanted when he was comfortable. 

Lucien led them straight to the master bedroom, and he seemed to know where it was, even without the benefit of two police officers posted outside. He held a hand out towards her. 

“Gentlemen, this is Elain. She is going to consult with me on this case. You are to fetch anything she requires.” 

The officer to her right shifted, but responded in the affirmative. Another exchanged glance passed between the two men. 

When they entered the room, Elain let her eyes travel along the space before settling on the well-dressed corpse on the floor. It was as large as three of her rooms at Lucien’s brownstone, a fireplace beginning to dwindle with fading light and heat. A four-poster bed was situated in the middle of the room, and a vanity was placed across from it, a jewelry box open and strewn casually with ropes of precious gems. Elain tensed as she remembered a similar scene, another room and the feminine presence she would never experience again. 

“I’m going to look around, Elain. Remember, don’t touch anything. But… observe. And I’m not sure how you can see what you see, but that’s the reason you are here. Please don’t forget that.” 

Elain turned without responding, clasping her hands behind her back for effect as she began to examine the room in more detail. The only sound for several minutes was the crackle of the fire and the murmuring of voices from outside the the room. Elain quickly realized that her value would be in looking to the victim himself, and so she turned to examine him. 

She was surprised to feel more curiosity than revulsion. After all, it was easier to be detached when the corpse belonged to someone you had never known in life. Had never loved. 

The victim - Charles, she reminded herself - was still dressed for dinner. His collar had been loosened but he hadn’t gotten as far as disrobing for bed. His eyes were closed and he would have looked peaceful, if not for the awkward angles his body had fallen into. Elain had no knowledge of ways that people died outside her limited if painful experience, but she felt that he had not gone peacefully, though his expression might imply otherwise. A small puddle of vomit was feet away, and she cocked her head at it. 

Elain heard Lucien approach her, but he remained silent, waiting to hear what she would say. Without prompting, she answered him. 

“There was a sigh,” she said, kneeling down, heedless of the fact that the hem of her dress now trailed in the remnants of this crime, caressing the body. “Then, he opened his eyes wide.” She turned her face towards Lucien and mimicked the expression. Grasping at his pant leg, her face crumbled back to neutrality before turning back to the corpse. 

Lucien stiffened, hesitated between grabbing her shoulders and forcing her from the sight, and letting her do what he had brought her here for. 

“What else?” he asked roughly. He could sense her slipping, finding that place inside of herself where she would refuse to communicate. Or perhaps it wasn’t refusal, but self-preservation. 

“He loved her. Desperately.” 

“Her? It was a woman?” Lucien asked. 

“There is a woman.” Elain shook her head. “His heart, it was breaking. Always breaking for her. Never to forget.” 

“Do you see her face?” 

“No. Only his love for her. It consumed everything. It was all he thought about, until it killed him.” 

Elain stood and turned towards Lucien. He lowered his voice. “His wife? Beatrice?” 

Elain’s face fell. “No. I’m sorry, but no.” 

He sighed. “I might have figured, given this turn of events. Can you tell me anything about his death? How it came to pass?” 

“If you mean to ask me if the means of his death was natural, then yes. It was nature that did him in. But nature had some aid in making its way inside.” Elain stepped her fingers up the wall, one at a time, like a small, nimble spider. When she could reach no higher, she clenched her hand in a fist. “Yes, one might say that nature killed this man, but it was not a natural death.” 

Lucien narrowed his eyes. “Can you explain that to me again?” 

Elain held her hands out, palms up. “I tell you what I know.” 

“Was he murdered?” 

Elain nodded. 

“That’s all I need, for now. I’m going to take over this investigation.” Lucien gestured for one of the officers who had stationed himself just outside the bedroom and relayed instructions. 

When he was done, Lucien impatiently asked Elain to follow, gathering his notes that she had not noticed him taking. 

“What are those for?” she asked. 

“You have your methods, I have mine. Or, I rather hope you have your methods.” 

He called for their carriage without speaking to her, suddenly in a foul mood. Elain remained silent. They entered the carriage without a word, Lucien slumping onto his seat so hard that it shook. 

“How do you do it?” he asked her. The wheels began making their familiar rhythm, jolting them as they drove over potholes and rivets in the road. Elain had an odd sense that she was returning home. 

“What do you really want to know, Lucien?” She met his gaze once more, and merely blinked watching him struggle to return it. 

“How do you know you aren’t blessed by some devil? That you haven’t been given some supernatural power? Maybe everyone was right.” Lucien lowered his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. He breathed heavily for a moment as he composed himself. 

“If you are afraid of me, Lucien, all you need do is say. I can leave, if you would like.” It was nothing she hadn’t heard a thousand times. And it had taken Lucien longer than most to shun her. Elain folded her hands in her lap and prepared to hear yet another condemnation. 

Lucien looked back up at her in surprise, searching the carriage interior as if he could find the source of such an odd accusation. His expression softened. 

“I’m sorry, Elain. I am tired, and that family, I care for them. I was there to investigate Charles’s death, but I’m not quite sure that it wasn’t a blow to myself as well.” 

“Why you?” Elain asked. “Why did she want you to come?” 

Lucien rubbed his temples. “Because they know me. They trust me. They are friends of my family, from a long time ago. I’ve known Beatrice and Charles since I was a child. I ran around in their park with my brothers, during the summer.” 

“But your own family doesn’t? Trust you?” 

“Quite perceptive of you, Elain.” A moment of silence passed. “No, it’s not that. I don’t trust them.” 

They rode the rest of the way home in quiet contemplation of one another. Elain was more concerned about keeping her own past hidden than she was about digging into Lucien’s. She realized that if she tried, she might pry where she was not welcome. But she didn’t want to betray his trust in that way. Not the first person who had shown her kindness in ages. 

When they re-entered the house, most of the rooms had been closed for the evening, fires doused and candles extinguished. The few electric lights that had been installed in the entry and the stairway to the bedrooms were illuminated. 

“Elain, before you sleep, I wanted to say thank you.” 

She furrowed her brow. “I didn’t do anything though. I don’t know how he died, or who did it, or why.” 

“Yes, but you tried. You are quite brave, you know. Even if you don’t see it.” 

They watched one another for another moment before she lowered her head, and wished him good night.


	4. Adjusting to A New Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain is left home alone with Azriel when Lucien has to go out of town on business, and they get to know one another a bit better. Meanwhile, she tries to process everything that has happened in the last day, which proves more difficult than she realized.

Elain woke the next day after a night of tossing and turning in her bed. The mattress had been far too soft, a reminder of what she had lost. Lost, and by some miracle, found again. The bedding was white and the color seemed to deny mess and grime, the idea that anyone would bleed or cry or wrinkle them being an affront to its existence. 

But the worst was the quiet. 

In the asylum, Elain had grown used to the moans and screams and chattering of the other patients. Sometimes she heard things she didn’t want to hear, patients being taken advantage of or beaten into submission. After a while, silence had seemed more ominous, the way that the building warned its residents of incoming calamity. 

They weren’t all mad, but they might have become that way, after a time. She had met a pregnant girl, discarded by her family, a woman accused of nymphomania, a boy who claimed he spoke to God. It wasn’t true, Elain knew - she had probed his mind one evening, searching for some link - and so perhaps he belonged there. But no one deserved to be treated in that manner. 

And now, in this tranquil house, the only sound she could hear at night was the ticking of the grandfather clock at the foot of the staircase. Though it came at regular intervals, it set her on edge, the way that it created silences in the space between the pendulum’s swing. 

The brief excitement she’d felt at leaving that place, meeting new people who didn’t look at her warily, at having a room of her own with furniture, was quickly wearing off. Elain had spent the night recalling everything that had happened in the last day. The morning before, she had woken on a stone floor, arms and legs pulled into her chest. Her hair, tangled and loose, hung in strings when she sat up to receive her morning meal. 

Elain had had grand plans to walk the perimeter of her cell before stretching on the floor and then curling back up in a ball. She wasn’t sure how many laps she would take. She liked to surprise herself each day with the actual number. But before she had the chance to accomplish these tasks, she met Lucien. 

Elain looked around her room. It was sparsely furnished, nothing like her bedroom had been before her mother passed, but worlds better than the place she recently inhabited. She slid out from under the sheets, her feet prepared to meet cold, rough stone, but pulled them back up when they met a rug. Placing them back down on the floor, she curled her toes. 

Where everything had once been hard and frozen, Elain now met with comfort and warmth. She wasn’t sure how to handle the adjustment back to that type of life, when it was what had once betrayed her. 

A knock came at her door. “Miss, are you presentable? May I come in?” 

“Yes.” There was no response, and Elain realized that her voice had come out as a whisper. “Yes,” she repeated. “Come in.” 

Mrs. Bates entered the room with a tray of food, setting it on the vanity. Elain watched the steam rising from the porcelain cup, the sunlight glinting off the domed roof of silver that kept her food warm. She had forgotten even what it was to have regular, hot meals. The porridge they were served at the asylum was usually cold and congealed by the time she had her portion. And of course it was flavorless. The idea of food with recognizable ingredients, flavor, and texture made her mouth water. 

“Good morning, Miss. I thought I’d check in on you, see if you need anything,” Mrs. Bates said after arranging the tray. “Mr. Vanserra suggested bringing you food so that you could take your time. How are you settling in?” 

The volume of words washed over Elain, coupled with kindness and concern that warmed her core. She immediately liked this woman. She wasn’t much older than herself, perhaps thirty, but it had been so long since Elain had experienced female companionship. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Bates. Can you show me where my clothing is?” Elain had brought nothing with her from the asylum, for she no longer owned anything. Using the possessive pronoun to refer to any object felt like an odd claim to make. 

“It’s just in here, Miss Archeron.” She walked over to a simple wardrobe and opened the paneled doors. Inside were a few dresses, simple, a few years out of fashion. 

Elain nodded. “Of course. Thank you for your assistance. I think I’d prefer to eat downstairs though. With Lucien and Azriel.” 

“As you wish, Miss.” She turned to cover the food and take the tray. “You should know that Mr. Vanserra has left, and he might not return for a day or two.” 

Elain’s throat tightened. “Do you know why?” 

Mrs. Bates set the tray back down and rested her hands across her middle. “Something to do with that case you were working on, I believe. He said that you shouldn’t concern yourself with it, that you were to make yourself comfortable here.” 

“Thank you,” Elain said, turning her back in a signal that she was done and the maid could leave. What she needed was a moment alone to understand why the absence of a man she barely knew could cause such panic in her. She was surprised to realize how quickly she had grown attached, but she suspected that it had everything to do with a lack of faith in herself. Time away from him would surely do her good, then. 

Elain took her time washing herself and dressing for breakfast. She chose the plainest of her dresses, saving the others for when she would need to go out and visit company. They wouldn’t be visits of pleasure, but business, and yet she didn’t want to reflect poorly on Lucien. 

As she walked down the stairs, sliding one open palm down the smooth handrail, she turned her thoughts to Azriel. She wasn’t sure how to approach someone who seemed reticent to enter into a conversation, but she had been adept at this, once. Surely, some part of her could remember what it was to smile just so, to tilt her head to catch the light to her advantage. Most men were easy to charm. The slightest bit of attention, opening her eyes widely to suggest candor, and they would talk to her as if she were a cat to be petted. 

As she turned down the hallway, running her hand over the post at the end of the stairway, she wondered if that was the sort of relationship she wanted with Lucien and Azriel. Surely, with Lucien it was too late. He knew too much about her. It might be a convenient facade with anyone else, however. 

Azriel was already seated at the table, a newspaper open to the side of his plate. A sideboard had been set with food, and Elain went to serve herself after greeting him. 

When she had settled into a chair opposite Azriel, he spoke. “Good morning, Elain.” He wore another suit, less formal this time, but the same pale grey. His eyes watched her, not allowing her the opportunity to look away or pretend that she hadn’t heard him. 

“Good morning.” Elain and began to eat, trying to keep herself from grabbing at the food with her bare hands. She had cleared half her plate and was already glancing back at the sideboard, contemplating more, when she realized that several minutes had passed without a word between them. 

“How are you doing this morning, Mr…” Elain waited for his surname. 

“Just call me Azriel.” 

Elain frowned slightly. 

“My family has no claim on me, Elain. And since we live under the same roof and you are in the employ of my particular friend” - Elain couldn’t help but notice the odd emphasis on the word, _friend_ \- “I think it’s appropriate for you to call me by my Christian name.” 

“I’d prefer you call me Miss Archeron. Thank you.” She stood from the table. This was not supposed to happen. She was not supposed to make friends with anyone, to make attachments. 

Azriel placed his palms on its surface. Something about the gesture seemed genuine, bare, and she sat back down. 

“Miss Archeron, then. How are you enjoying your new accommodations?” 

“They are an improvement from my previous lodgings.” 

“I should say so.” 

Elain pursed her lips. 

“I hope it isn’t intrusive, but Lucien did tell me where he found you. I can only imagine what it must have been like. I have heard horror stories about places like the one you were in,” Azriel continued. 

“Yes, well, you can imagine all you’d like.” Elain went silent for a moment, setting her fork down on her plate. She stared at nothing in particular, trying to remember how this sort of conversation was supposed to go. “It was most unpleasant. Noises at all hours of the day, howling and shrieking. This place, here, it is so… quiet.” 

“But not peaceful?” he asked. 

Elain let out a breath of relief. “No, not quite peaceful.” 

Azriel nodded, and she was startled to find herself relaxing. She was used to putting others at ease, not to have it done to herself. But he seemed to know what she meant, in so few words… 

She decided that theirs would not be the sort of relationship where she kept him at an easy distance. Nor did she want that. “May I ask you something?” 

“Of course.” He sat back his chair, folding his newspaper to give her his full attention. 

“How do you know Lucien? What do you do here?” She could have sworn something glimmered in Azriel’s eyes, but couldn’t place it. 

“Lucien and I are friends. We have known one another since we were quite young. And our families have been connected for longer than that.” 

“But you don’t work for him?” she persisted. If Lucien was the type to take in strays for various purposes, she’d prefer knowing what she was getting into. 

“No,” Azriel answered. “I certainly do not work for him.” He seemed more amused than the question would warrant. 

A sudden clamor came from the hallway, the sound of metal hitting wood, and Elain jumped up. Azriel joined her, holding an arm across the table as if he could steady her from there. 

“I need to go,” Elain stammered. 

“I’m sure it was just the servants, Elain. Please, sit.” 

“No, no, no,” she repeated. The word echoed in her head and she backed away from the table until she hit a wall and slumped down against it, sitting on the floor and curling into herself. 

Azriel walked around to her side of the table in a few long strides. He kneeled down, pulling her chin up to force her to look at him, but her eyes were far away. 

“Elain. Can you come back to me?” 

She gaze darted around the room in no discernible pattern until she finally met his eyes. 

“Shall we take you upstairs?” 

She shook her head violently. “No. I don’t belong there.” 

“Where do you belong, Elain?” 

Her face crumpled and she rocked forward until her forehead met his shoulder and he wrapped his arms around her. Into his shirt, she said with a muffled cry, “I don’t know.” 

***** 

After the origin of the crash had been explained - a clumsy servant polishing the silver - and Elain had settled back into herself, she spent the rest of the day, and the day after that, exploring the house. She was pleased to find a small library, and the courtyard was mostly uninhabited, though it boasted privacy and a small, carved bench beneath a sugar maple tree. She asked who had rights to use the space, and learned that it was shared between the residents, but that few ever laid any claim to it. 

Assured that she would have the space to herself, Elain found a woolen shawl and a book, and installed herself on the bench in the afternoon sunlight before joining Azriel for dinner. 

They were in the middle of dinner the day after Lucien had left when they heard the door open. Azriel and Elain both nearly jumped from their seats, though she wondered at his enthusiasm for seeing a friend. She, at least, was still trying to readjust to living in polite society. 

Lucien strode into the entryway and Azriel and Elain went to greet him. 

Shaking the cold off his coat and handing it and his hat to the valet, Lucien began speaking. “Well that was a damnable experience. Cold there and back and the roads were atrocious. Really, one should find a better place to conduct this sort of business. Although I suppose that would force people to confront their own mortality, wouldn’t you say?” He rubbed his hands together, realizing that they were not sure what he had spent the last days doing. 

“I have been to see the coroner. He confirmed that Mr. Van der Lyden was murdered.” Lucien glanced at Elain. “I trusted you, of course. It’s just unlikely that my colleagues would take the word of a… well… it’s unlikely they would have taken your word alone. Trial run, like I said, Elain.” 

She gave him a small, polite smile. Of course. She was used to being underestimated, untrusted to know her own mind. 

“What you said, however,” Lucien continued, “I am interested in learning more about that. You said nature, but not natural. It is suspected that Charles was poisoned. And your words, they would certainly fit such a death. The means being from nature, but the way he received the poison done by a very deliberate hand. And a female one, if all that you say proves correct.” 

Elain loosed a sigh of relief, the impressions in her mind clicking into place. “Yes, yes that’s it. Nature, but not natural.” 

It began to occur to her that she might not be able to interpret the images in her mind alone. They came to her as impressions, but without Lucien’s expertise, she might never make use of them. 

“Elain,” Lucien said, extending his hand. “We need to go back and talk to Beatrice. We have some work to do.”


	5. Investigating the First Crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain and Lucien return to the scene of the crime they are investigating to see if they can uncover more information. When they return home, he has news regarding her sisters.

As they approached the front entrance of the Van der Lyden residence, Elain took in her surroundings. This was her second visit to the house, though she was not nearly so dazzled by the change of scenery as she had been the first time. 

The Van der Lydens lived in the most exclusive, affluent neighborhood of the city. It was a mere accident of chance that she had not met Charles or Beatrice before. Yet it seemed a lifetime ago, when she had lived amongst that type of society, and Elain wasn’t sure that she hadn’t completely transformed outside as much as she had inside, making the likelihood of being recognized slim. 

Elain was bitterly glad of this fact. 

A butler greeted them at the door and guided them to a sitting room. A fire was going, and Lucien sent her a reassuring glance before she looked away to take in their surroundings. The furniture was ornately carved, upholstered in silk brocade, and a piano gleamed in the corner of the room. This wasn’t the luxury she had grown up around, but it was quite close. As a child, she had taken it for granted. The cost of the upholstery and the rugs and the flowers had never factored into her calculations of how much it cost every day to spend a life like this. Now, she was all too aware of the costs that no one wrote down in ledgers and didn’t appear on receipts. 

Mrs. Van der Lyden came into the room dressed in black, but the finest black gown that Elain had ever seen. It was silk and lace and beaded, the panels and pleats flowing and folding from the skirts in an excess fabric, meaning excess cost. 

There was apparently nothing shameful about being dressed in finery while mourning, as long as it was all in black. 

Lucien stood and reached to take her hand, but she embraced him. “Lucien, thank you for coming.” He waited to sit again until she indicated the couch he had been installed on. “I didn’t want to talk to anyone else. They are exceedingly coarse, you know. I just cannot abide having the details of my personal life strewn about. If you can keep this conversation confidential,” - she glanced at Elain - “I would be most appreciative.” 

“Of course, Bea, I’ll do what I can. But I can’t hide any facts that may lead to the resolution of this case.” 

“Naturally.” Mrs. Van der Lyden paused. “And you, child? Can I expect the same from you?” She looked pointedly at Elain, her kind expression tinged with disdain that anyone who hadn’t grown up in this milieu would miss. But Elain saw it. 

“Yes, ma’am. Confidence is my speciality. I take secrets to the grave.” 

Lucien looked quickly at Beatrice. “She didn’t mean any offense, Bea. Elain has been out of society for quite some time. But you can trust me. And I will vouch for her professionalism.” 

As Lucien spoke, Elain tried to work out what she had said wrong. But of course. Mentioning a grave in front of a widow was tactless. A year ago, she would have had Mrs. Van der Lyden begging her to stay, to comfort her. Now she was causing offense. 

She tried again. “I apologize, I spoke without thinking. I only want to see this case resolved, and your husband’s killer brought to justice. I cannot imagine what it must have been like, to find him like that.” Her voice, usually soft, took on sympathetic tones as she shifted back into her old self. 

Beatrice eyed her suspiciously, but welcomed the opportunity to talk about herself. “Yes, it was awful. You know we were married when I was only 17, and the children haven’t made it back into the city yet. But what else can I tell you?” 

“You never know what might be useful, Bea.” Lucien leaned forward and clasped her hands between his own. A move he never would have dared, had he not been close with the family, Elain assumed. So much for professionalism. 

“If you can tell us what was happening the days leading up to the event, it would help us greatly.” 

She nodded, and began. “He had been going to the club, as usual. He always came home for dinner, though. He knew that I wanted to spend time with him then. So during the day I have my committees, you know, and then we would talk about our day over dinner. Only, the day before last he came home late. I had to ask the servants to put off the meat for over an hour.” 

“Do you know why he was late?” 

“He wouldn’t say, other than there was some business deal that had gone wrong. Of course I’ve never had a head for such things, so I let it go.” She gave off a hollow chuckle and looked to Elain for reinforcement, but Elain kept her expression neutral, realizing too late that the widow was looking for support. 

“Well, anyway, the last few nights he didn’t even want to finish his wine. He said it was bitter, that it must have been uncorked too soon or the vintage labeled incorrectly. So he went to bed early, complaining of a headache.” 

Elain glanced at Lucien, but he kept his gaze on Beatrice. “And that is when he said he was going to retire for the evening? After he complained about the wine?” 

“Yes.” Beatrice sniffled into an embroidered handkerchief. 

“Bea, I hate to be indelicate, but did Charles have another interest?” Lucien looked at her pointedly, hoping to make his meaning clear. 

“Of course not. He was quite busy, you know, and he could be distant, but that’s the way, isn’t it? We have been married for almost 40 years, and men like to meet new people. But it was nothing sordid, nothing like that. Besides, who would he meet in this society? It’s all the same people, has been for ages.” 

Elain flinched at the way this woman acted as if nothing might change in the nearly 60 years of her life. How fortunate she must have been, to see the world from this perch, and never have that view challenged. So unlike her own experience, but much like herself. At one time, Elain had believed nothing could harm her, so long as her family surrounded her. And like this woman, she had been proven wrong. 

“May I ask you a question?” Elain cursed herself for not having been more accommodating before, for not having plied the woman with honeyed words, but she had been hearing whispers from the walls, and wanted to decide if what they said was true. 

Lucien looked over at Elain, his lips becoming pinched. 

“It’s what you are here for, is it not? Unless you are just some pretty ornament that Lucien has found brightens up his workday?” 

“That is not my purpose, no. But what I have to ask might be unpleasant.” 

Beatrice sighed. “Go ahead, my dear.” 

“Did you have any idea that Charles might divorce you?” 

Beatrice clutched the fabric of her skirts, rumpling the expensive silk and lace. Elain thought of the housekeeper who would have to stay up well into the night to repair it. 

“Heavens, no. Charles didn’t believe in that. And he loved me. We have been married for a long time, and we may have married for money, initially. He always did love a good challenge. And I was quite the catch.” She winked at Elain. “But no, divorce would never have been an option.” 

Elain tilted her head and nodded, accepting the response. Turning to Lucien, she said, “I think we should go upstairs.” 

“Is that alright, Bea? We will only go with your permission, of course.” 

The matronly woman waved her hand. She was used to being asked permission, and providing it like a benevolent deity. “I don’t sleep there, I can’t. Perhaps I’ll return to it, but for now, I stay in the guest room across the hall. It hasn’t been touched, on my orders.” 

Elain nearly admired the woman’s refusal to break under such pressure, but she supposed that Beatrice needed nothing. Neither the financial support nor approval of her family, and her last name was one that would command respect, even if it were discovered that Charles had had an affair. Elain envied her this self-confidence and self-sufficiency, but recognized that it was hard-earned, and had come after decades. 

As Elain stood to make her way to the staircase, she passed by the fireplace. The remnants of twigs and branches were littered among the outskirts of the fire, and she wondered why anyone would use such fuel in a home like this. Lucien called to her, and she joined him upstairs. 

Lucien began to inspect the room and Elain stood in the place where Charles’ body had rested days before. She kneeled down and placed her palms on the floor, wondering if the contact would help her to focus. She closed her eyes, but only the usual shadowy impressions came to her. 

The woman. Never fading. Bitterness. A creeping feeling up her spine as if someone were waiting. Not for Charles, no, but for someone else. 

“What do you see?” Lucien asked her. 

“Someone wanted the divorce. I just can’t see it clearly. There are others here, sticking their fingers in and messing with the way of the world, and…” Elain paused, searching for the words. She stood and faced him, mimicking the evening before. But this time it was full daylight, and there was no corpse at her feet. 

Elain’s hands clenched and then flexed, her fingers spreading as far as they would. “If only I could see the faces. But I get feelings, and sensations, and I don’t know which belong to whom.” 

She cocked her head when she looked at the bed. It was perfectly made, nary a wrinkle or pillow out of place. “There are more.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“There are more like him. Like Charles. I don’t know who they are, but this has happened before, and it will again.” Her face crumpled and she looked on the verge of tears. It wasn’t only for the deaths themselves, but for the change they would bring on the unwilling. The betrayal that fate could commit on someone who found themselves settled, happy, a future in mind. 

“It’s alright, Elain. We will figure this out. It might be good to get some rest, look at this with a fresh perspective tomorrow.” 

She sighed. “Let’s return for the evening, then. Did you find anything?” 

He shook his head. “Nothing that I can say with certainty. But we can look at the pieces together. Away from prying eyes.” 

***** 

They entered the foyer of Lucien’s brownstone, as if they had a hundred times before, but this time he stopped her. 

“Elain, I learned something while I was gone.” 

She handed her coat and hat to Mrs. Bates, already accustomed to the assistance of others where she’d had none before. 

“Shall we take a seat?” Lucien lead the way to the sitting room where a fire was waiting for them. He must have given instruction before they left. They settled into what had quickly become their usual positions in the room, and Lucien let the silence fill the space between them before he spoke. 

“I heard news of your sisters while I was gone.” 

There was no change in Elain’s expression. 

“Feyre and Rhysand, they have returned from their honeymoon. They didn’t know you had been taken, Elain. The news never reached them.” 

Every muscle in Elain clenched, a shiver ran through her, and she rested her head in her hands. “It has been months, though. Didn’t they wonder why I never wrote?” When she raised her head again to look at him, there were tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. “And what about Nesta? Does she claim ignorance as well?” 

“Quite the opposite, in fact. She petitioned the courts to have you released, though without the backing of a male relative…” 

“It was hopeless,” she finished. She stood and went to the fireplace, opening her palms to feel the heat. 

“Are you alright, Elain? Is there anything I can do for you?” 

Elain glanced up at him, the tears slowly falling down her cheeks. “I’d like to see them.” 

“Of course, I can contact them as soon as possible. Just give me the word.” 

Wiping the tears from her cheeks, Elain gestured to the couches. 

As they settled back into seats opposite one another, Elain began. “You must know that my family didn’t know what to do with me. They didn’t understand what was happening, as much as they wanted to.” 

The thought of Nesta’s furrowed brow and attempts to piece together the information that Elain knew, but shouldn’t have, caused a pang in her chest. 

“My sisters love me, I know they do. But they don’t understand me. At least, not the me that I have become.” 

She sat back in her seat, allowing herself a decidedly un-ladylike posture. “It happened after our mother died. The first time I saw something. I knew that it was going to happen, that the man was going to fall. There were construction workers, you see. At the house, because of the fire. I knew he was going to fall and then when he did, they were afraid that I had done it, that I had pushed his ladder.” She laughed. “I was 10 years old. I wouldn’t have had the strength. But when you know things you shouldn’t, it causes fear. My father took me to the priest, who tried to force me to confess. Of course I wouldn’t. I was a child! I was terrified.” 

Elain took a breath to compose herself. “Feyre and Nesta took turns trying to gain my confidence, find out how I had known. They failed, because I didn’t understand it myself. I still don’t. After a while, I learned to stop telling anyone about what I saw. But until I can figure out what this is, and how I can live a normal life with my family, I don’t want to see them.” 

She twisted the skirts of her dress in her hands, much like Mrs. Van der Lyden had. “Please don’t make me. Not yet.” Elain hadn’t yet shared the biggest betrayal she had experienced, but that could come later. When she was prepared to deal with it herself. 

Lucien contemplated what she had said for a moment before responding. “You have my word.”


	6. On the Trail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain and Lucien discover a trail of murders that could be linked to the one they are currently investigating. While they are looking into the other murders, Lucien has to explain a bit his and Azriel’s past to Elain. Later that evening, Elain has an unexpected encounter with the supernatural.

The following weeks passed quietly, and with them came a sort of rhythm at Lucien’s brownstone. He had no more business to take him away, and he, Azriel, and Elain found themselves chatting lightly at breakfast before going their own ways for the afternoon. Lucien went to his study to go over his case notes. Elain took a book into the courtyard during the few hours the sunlight reached it, huddled against the chill, and Azriel left the house. Elain wasn’t sure where he went, and didn’t pry. But when he came back it was with something of a spring in his step. If it could ever be said that Azriel walked in such a way.  
  
Elain was growing used to this living arrangement, to being left alone as she sorted through the troubled thoughts that plagued her. She rarely went out, as leaving the house meant learning things she didn’t want to know, that she could hardly understand. Lucien allowed her her space, and he and Azriel each allowed her the time to share what she wanted. Elain might have felt like an intruder, but they had developed a mutual respect of the walls they had each put up, even if those walls didn’t quite exist between Azriel and Lucien, though for what reason, she couldn’t discern.  
  
As much as Elain wanted to understand them and their relationship, she would never use her gift where it wasn’t wanted, and she trusted that when they wanted to explain their pasts, they would.  
  
As she sat on her usual courtyard bench one day, Lucien interrupted Elain’s afternoon reading. He strode into the place as if he had never seen it before, and his expression softened when their eyes met.  
  
“This is quite lovely. I can see why you come out here every day. Despite the cold.”  
  
Elain swung her legs from the bench to come to a proper seated position, tucking her shawl around herself. She had begun to fill out her dresses better, to feel like they belonged to her. The afternoon sun shone on her hair, which was also becoming thicker, healthier. When Mrs. Bates helped her curl it into a chignon this morning, even she had commented on Elain’s new-found health.  
  
“I prefer being outdoors,” she explained. “Even in the cold, there are fewer people here who can disturb…” she trailed off and Lucien nodded.  
  
“There is no one here you can find out unwanted secrets from.”  
  
“Precisely.” Elain set her cloth bookmark between the pages, closed it, and folded her hands over it in her lap. “Would you like to join me?”  
  
“Actually, I have come to ask you if you would like to leave. It will only be for the afternoon. But some of my colleagues say they have news for me that I might want to look at for myself. And I’d like you to come.”  
  
“Another test?”  
  
“No. Well, perhaps. You have been here for a while, Elain, and while everything has been going along quite nicely, I still need more time.”  
  
“To decide if you will keep me here, you mean? To see if you can truly trust me, and not just around yourself and Azriel?”  
  
“Yes. I would like you to come and meet some of my colleagues, so that they might get to know you. You are quite a mysterious consultant, and the chief would like to know who he is paying. Oh yes,” he added at her surprised expression. “You think I was lying about that? No, not quite. You are being paid. It’s not much, but you are not at my mercy, at the very least.”  
  
Elain stood, straightening her shawl over her shoulders. “I would like to change my dress first.”  
  
*****  
  
They arrived at the station late in the afternoon, the sunlight already fading. A calm had come over the building, or what Elain assumed was calm. She expected there to be more clamor, noise, but it seemed as if the idea of murder and crime were things to be taken lightly, here. Or perhaps they were just tired. The entire city seemed to have been under a pall of mourning since the fire.  
  
Lucien introduced her to his supervisor, and Elain recognized some of his colleagues from having been at the Van der Lydens’ home. After introductions were made, Lucien took her to his office. They were followed by a young officer who seemed eager to please, clutching his hat and a briefcase between his hands.  
  
“Mr. Vanserra, sir, we have some evidence we wanted to share with you.”  
  
Lucien indicated the chairs that Elain and the young man could sit at as he settled into his own desk chair. Before they sat, the officer turned to Elain. “Apologies miss, I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. My name is Black. Nathanial Black.”  
  
“Elain Archeron.” She extended her gloved hand and he placed his lips on it before bowing and taking a seat. He managed to begin fidgeting before he had even settled into it, while Elain took her own seat with grace that she forgotten she was capable of.  
  
Lucien looked at Mr. Black pointedly until the boy remembered to speak.  
  
“Of course, yes, you are here to see the evidence, sir. Apologies.” There was more silence, and Elain noticed that Lucien kept a small clock on his desk, its presence announced by the quiet ticking.  
  
“Black?” Lucien asked after a moment.  
  
“Yes, sir?”  
  
“Stop apologizing and show me what we came all this way for. You wouldn’t want Miss Archeron to be late home for dinner.” Lucien gave the youth a small smile and folded his hands on his desk.  
  
“Of course, apol-“ he stopped himself just in time, and leaned down to an attache case he had brought with him. “We have evidence, sir, and miss, that Mr. Van der Lyden was not the first victim to die in this way. We have come to the conclusion that there are others, going back over ten years, and that no one has noticed for various reasons. They are both men and women, of various ages. And each victim, you see, has been increasingly wealthy. As if the killer were testing the waters, you know. Of course you know.” He laughed nervously. “So in any case…” He paused. “Heh. Case.”  
  
Lucien cleared his throat.  
  
“Yes, so as I was saying, sir, and miss, we have collected the information from these other murders to see if you might be able to see something we haven’t, if it might indeed be connected to Mr. Van der Lyden’s untimely demise.”  
  
Lucien waved his hand. “You can leave that here. Miss Archeron and I will go over the evidence."  
  
Mr. Black bowed quickly. Before he left, he looked at Elain. “It was quite nice to meet you, Miss Archeron. I hope to see you around here more often, as it does a heart good to see a pretty face like yours.”  
  
Elain nodded politely and they waited until he had shut the door behind him to speak.  
  
“Quite smitten, isn’t he, our young Mr. Black?” Lucien remarked.  
  
Elain waved her hand in the air and began removing her gloves. “He would be impressed at any of the female sex coming to this place, as long as they were fresh enough.”  
  
Lucien let out a laugh. “Why Miss Archeron, I didn’t know you were capable of such coarse language.”  
  
“Oh that was hardly coarse, _Mr._ Vanserra.” She smiled and the sight threw Lucien off so much that he began to stammer.  
  
“Well, perhaps we should see what we have been left, shall we? I can look over these cases here, if you would like to take these others?” He divided the pile in half, hefting a stack of five case files into Elain’s waiting arms. “I think I already know the answer to this question, but are you alright, looking at these files? Though they contain crime scene photographs?”  
  
“Photos? You mean that they take photographs of the deceased? Where they passed?”  
  
“Yes,” Lucien answered. “It’s a new practice. We are still working out the legality of using them in court, but it has proven immensely helpful if the answers are not immediately apparent.”  
  
“Those might be the most useful of all, for me.”  
  
Lucien cleared off half his desk for Elain to use, and they began to work in silence. Though they were looking at different cases, whenever Elain asked him a question he knew the answer immediately, as if they had been looking at the same case together. And whenever Lucien held up an image to Elain, she knew whether or not it was relevant to what he wanted to know. They worked this way for hours, rifling through the details of deaths that had been dealt, a total of 11 in the last 10 years. Mr. Van der Lyden was the 12th victim, if the suspicions of Mr. Black and the other officers were true.  
  
In the dwindling light of the office, Lucien finally sat back in his chair. “I think we might need to take this information home, Elain. Or leave it here and come back. But either way, Azriel is probably home by now and wondering where we are. Mrs. Bates will have dinner waiting for us.”  
  
“Yes, I agree. Let’s take these files home, if possible. Then we can look at this with all of the other evidence you collected.” Elain stood and stretched her stiff muscles, gathering her coat.  
  
“Elain, what do you think of this?” Lucien gestured to the mess of paperwork and files that littered his desk.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“I mean…” Lucien paused, struggling for words. “Why do you presume that these crimes are occurring? I know you haven’t seen as much of the world as I have, and yet you see what I cannot. Do you think that you can discern a motive? Other than money?”  
  
Elain contemplated a moment before answering.  
  
“It’s as if the energy, the life has been stripped from this place. The entire city was gutted, and not just the buildings, when that fire happened. I think we all probably lost someone. And so this person, I think that she - yes, I still think it is a she - she feels as if she has been robbed of something. Yet we all do, don’t we? We are all missing some piece of ourselves, whether it be a person or some connection to the past.”  
  
Lucien’s face darkened and he turned away from her.  
  
“What did you lose, Lucien?” Elain moved around to desk to where he stood. He turned to face her again, and she reached up to caress the cheek that held the majority of his scar, moving her fingertips along it until she brushed his brow. “What haunts you?”  
  
Lucien grasped Elain’s hand, forcing it away from the scar. He pushed it down until she let it fall at her side, and she took a step back.  
  
“There is no reason why a female killer wouldn’t target female victims,” she said, “if they made it known that they had those interests. The only thing really matters is how much money the victim had to lose, correct?”  
  
Lucien pushed himself away from his desk. “As well as their lives.”  
  
“Yes, well, the killer doesn’t take that into account. I think we should look further. At more potential female victims, as well as male. I think your officers had begun by looking at wealthy male victims who had been poisoned, and were forced to look beyond those restrictions.”  
  
“Well, Elain, you seem to be right on target.” He held up two of the files. “These victims were women, widowed young, living alone, but quite wealthy. And in these cases, as with most of them, their assets were transferred to an account that seems to belong to someone who doesn’t exist.”  
  
“Then we will look into it later. But for now, let’s get home to Azriel. We wouldn’t want to keep him waiting, though what he does for you, I can’t quite figure out.”  
  
Lucien pulled the files into a neat stack and Elain helped to gather the evidence she had been looking through. Before she could open the door to his office, Lucien leaned back against his desk.  
  
“Azriel is my brother, Elain.”  
  
“Your brother?”  
  
“Yes. Well, as close as one can be. My father had a habit of dallying with the help. Before I was born, he impregnated one of them, and then paid her to leave. But my mother, she had been trying so hard to conceive, and she wouldn’t let him be so cruel. So they took the boy in.”  
  
“You’ve known him your whole life, then?” Elain pressed gently.  
  
Elain had suspected that the two were closer than they let on. It clicked into place, now. The implied intimacy, the whispers, the secret looks between them. They hid this part of their lives together because Lucien was protecting Azriel, against his father’s wishes. The bastard son and the one who should have helped to carry on the family name, living in a small brownstone on the outskirts of a neighborhood that was barely acceptable for polite society to visit.  
  
“Yes. Azriel has been there for me when my own brothers would have turned me out. Indeed, when they did turn me out. There is more to him than you know, but it’s not my story to tell.”  
  
Elain tried to fill in the blanks between what Lucien had not told her so she could understand Azriel’s past, but all she could see were images of violence, despair. She would never be able to piece them together without Lucien supplying her the details, but he had already given her so much…  
  
“We each of us have our own secrets, Elain. I don’t want you to ever think that I share mine with you lightly. And I hope you know that I would never expose yours, should you need to share them with me.”  
   
“Thank you.” She curtsied, then felt the gesture was too formal.  
  
“I don’t know if I can express what your assistance has meant to me, these past weeks.” Elain needed to start again, to explain what she was feeling. Sometimes she forgot that not everyone understood the world in the way that she did, that words were necessary.  
  
“I thought that I was going mad, I kept waking up thinking I would find that cold stone floor beneath my feet. And now, I’m terrified that I will wake up and find out I never left.” Her lower lip began to quiver and Lucien took a step closer to her so that they stood a hair’s breadth apart.  
  
“I will never let you go back there.” He wiped away her tears and gripped her arm. “You have my word.”  
  
*****  
  
That evening, Elain was woken from her bed to a whisper of her name. She still had trouble staying asleep the entire night, and so she assumed that her dreams had come to haunt her again.  
  
But when her name was whispered again, as though lips were pressed against the wood of her door itself, she sat up in bed and stood. The grandfather clock made its regular _tick tick tick_ on the ground floor, and she paused a moment. Again, the sound came. Grabbing her robe from the chair at her vanity, she wrapped it around herself.  
  
_Elain…_  
  
She searched her mind for some hint as to who was calling for her, but nothing came. Whatever presence this was, she was unable to touch it. Quietly, she turned the doorknob and opened the door just a crack. All that greeted her was the dark hallway.  
  
The grandfather clock let out a loud _chime_ and she nearly closed the door again. Instead, she waited, counting. 3am. Everyone else was surely asleep, and she stepped cautiously out into the hallway, making sure to leave her door open.  
  
There were six doors on this floor, she knew, and the stairs leading to upper level and the ground floor. One door was her own, another belonged to Lucien, and one to Azriel. Another door lead to a linen closet, and the other two rooms were those which Lucien had requested she stay away from, claiming that they were under repair. And yet she had never seen anyone come to work on them.  
  
Elain made her way to the door closest to her that belonged to none of them. Azriel’s room was next to her own, Lucien’s room was across the hall, and the linen closet was next to Lucien’s room. That left the two doors on the far end of the hallway, one of them at the very end, and one just to its right.  
  
It was the room at the far end that called to her. It faced the street, and yet she had never seen the shutters open or the servants going in to clean.  
  
A grunting sound came from the door, one which she was not supposed to enter. She held her hand up to the paneled wood and closed her eyes. Someone was inside, she knew, but it was neither Lucien nor Azriel. They remained asleep at this hour, and so whoever was in here… They were not really there.  
  
A plume of pitch black smoke curled from the crack between the door and its frame, and Elain watched with curiosity as it moved with what she could have sworn was sentience. The voice called her name again, coming from inside the room that time. Its soft tones would be soothing, were she more certain of its origin.  
  
Placing her hand on the doorknob, she turned it. 


	7. Nesta comes to visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out what lies behind that creepy ghost-door. Elain and Lucien return to the station where they are confronted by Nesta. Afterwards, Elain goes looking for comfort in the middle of the night and finds something completely unexpected.
> 
> **Chapter warning** \- this is the start of a taboo relationship which I'm not going to tag, for spoiler reasons.  <3

Elain opened the door to find the most ordinary room she could have imagined. It was a bedroom, and a quite feminine one at that. It was decorated with more care than the other rooms in the house, save the sitting room.   
  
No signs of use were apparent.   
  
She took one step inside the threshold, and was greeted by silence. Her eyes went from corner to corner of the room, taking in the furniture, the wallpaper, the rugs. There was no repair needed here. No signs of fire, of use, or wear. Elain tried to reason the reality that stood before her with what Lucien had told her. He had said that the room was not safe for habitation, that it should not be occupied. She sat at the vanity, picking up a silver-plated brush and looking into the mirror.    
  
Elain could easily imagine herself sitting here, brushing her hair, while her lover kissed her cheek to say goodnight. But she had lost all of that, had lost everything.   
  
A whisper came from behind her and she whipped around. Her name, she might have sworn someone had whispered her name again. But no one was there.   
  
With shaking legs, she stood and returned to her own room.  
  
*****  
  
The next morning, Lucien commented on Elain’s paleness at breakfast. She blamed it on a sleepless night, eyeing both him and Azriel warily. Surely, if Lucien knew what was behind that door, then Azriel knew. And neither of them were telling her.   
  
When Lucien suggested that they return to the police station, she acquiesced with a nod of her head.   
  
She didn’t fail to notice Lucien and Azriel exchanging a glance, though she seemed lost in her thoughts.  
  
*****  
  
When they arrived at the station, Mr. Black was waiting for them. He tipped his hat, greeting Elain with fervor that was quite unbecoming.   
  
“Do you have news for us, Mr. Black?” Lucien asked as they strode to his office.  
  
“No, sir, only there is someone waiting for you there. She says she won’t go until she has spoken to you and Miss Archeron.”  
  
Elain turned to him and held out her hand. “Call me Elain, please.” Nathanial took her hand and kissed it, quite pleased at this progress.   
  
“Of course, Miss, I mean Elain. Please, let me know if you need anything. Anything at all, I’ll merely be a shout away. Or a whisper away, as I am sure a lady such as yourself has no need to yell.”   
  
Mr. Black bowed once again and scampered off to his desk, and Elain watched him go with a smirk. There were few people she could trust in the world, she had come to realize, and she might as well make of those she could.  
  
When they walked into Lucien’s office, Elain was disarmed at the presence she saw there. Nesta sat in one of the chairs facing the desk, the same she had sat in herself the afternoon before.  
  
“Nesta,” she exclaimed, and her sister stood and turned. They embraced, holding one another as Lucien made himself blend into the scenery.  
  
Elain felt as if her heart might explode, as if she had never found home since leaving it nearly a year ago. Nesta’s familiar scent was enough to drive her to collapse, here in Lucien’s office. Yet she remained upright, reminding herself that reality still existed beyond these walls, and with it, the fact that she would be shunned for the very reason she felt herself to be of most use.  
  
“Elain,” Nesta gasped, hands on Elain’s face, “I never thought you would get out, I tried, I went every day but they kept telling me that they needed a male relative. To think, the nerve of those judges, telling me I don’t understand the sanity of my own sister whom I’ve known from birth. My precious Elain…” She grasped Elain in her arms again.   
  
“Nesta,” Elain began, pulling away, “What are you doing here?”  
  
Nesta looked as if Elain were a stranger. Elain couldn’t blame her, really. Nesta was used to feeling like the protector, but to see Elain here, thriving, must have been something of a blow.   
  
“I wanted to check on you, take you home. I have news, Laney.” Nesta brushed Elain’s hair behind her ear. Using her childhood nickname was not intentional, but still caused a pang in Elain’s chest.   
  
“I work here now, with Lucien. Speaking of which, Nesta, please meet Lucien Vanserra. And Lucien, my sister, Nesta Archeron.”  
  
As they shook hands Elain continued. “Lucien is a detective, and we have been working together. He has needed assistance in some cases, and I have proven useful. With my special talents.”  
  
Nesta shot Elain a look, but Elain’s calm visage told her all she needed to know. This stranger, this interloper on their family, knew that Elain was gifted in ways that many would attribute to the Devil. And he was willing to make use of what others would condemn her for. Elain knew that counted for something with Nesta, but would still not be enough.   
  
“Nesta,” she began carefully, “I am doing good here. We haven’t solved a case yet.” She looked to Lucien. “But I am confident that we will soon.”  
  
Elain indicated for Nesta to sit back in her seat, while Lucien took his chair behind the desk and Elain took the remaining free seat.   
  
Nesta looked back and forth between them, unsure how open she could be.  
  
“Please tell me what you needed to say. Lucien can hear whatever it is you need to share. He took me from the asylum, you see, and so I am sure there are no secrets between us.”  
  
Elain realized with a start that Lucien had seen her at her lowest, and yet still reached out a hand to bring her out of the darkness. Others had seen her at her high, and reached out a hand to push her down. She brushed aside the memory of Graysen’s disdain and concentrated on speaking with Nesta.   
  
“Nesta?” Her eldest sister had begun glancing back and forth between herself and Lucien, trying to figure out their relationship.   
  
“I understand that you are living with Mr. Vanserra. And Elain, you have to understand how that looks, what people will say once they realize that a single woman is living with two single men. You may act as you wish, but others, they won’t be so generous in their assessment.” Nesta fixed her gaze on Lucien, and though she had addressed Elain, everyone in the room knew that she was testing him.   
  
“I am aware of what society might say, Ness. And I don’t care.”  
  
Nesta looked at her with a start. “Elain, father left you an inheritance. It was kept in trust, while you were in that hellhole. You don’t have to stay here, with him, if you don’t want.” Nesta extended her hand, but Elain refused to take it.   
  
“I think I would rather stay. Please try to understand, Nesta.” Elain held her hands in front of herself in a pleading gesture.   
  
“You can be independent, Elain. Wouldn’t you rather that than whatever you have going on here?” Nesta seemed as if she might break, and it pained Elain to shake her head.  
  
“I don’t need independence. Not in the way that you mean, at least. I need to know who I am. I need to know how I might be useful. You know how I was trying to figure out what happened to me, after mother died. I am still trying to find who that is.”   
  
Elain stood to lead Nesta out of Lucien’s office.   
  
“Please understand, Ness. I just need time. I will come find you, when I am ready.”  
  
Nesta stood, accepting Elain’s decision. “I will be in touch with you.” She looked pointedly to Lucien. “Don’t think that I won’t be here, every day, checking on my sister.”  
  
Elain hugged Nesta and didn’t want to let go. It was the first time she’d had affection from family in ages, and as much as she knew she needed independence, the idea of sinking back into the old habit of being taken care of was tantalizing.   
  
Instead, she watched as Nesta gathered her hat, her parasol, and turned to leave.   
  
“Shall we get to work?” Elain asked Lucien.  
  
*****  
  
That evening, Elain tossed and turned in her bed. The images from the previous night and the police station haunted her in equal measure. The smoke pouring from the doorframe, the voice calling her name, Nesta’s confounded stare, they all combined to make Elain question her sanity. If only she could know that she were making the right choices, that beyond her bedroom door lie someone whom she could trust with her life…  
  
Lucien was the answer. In him was a person who had trusted her in her darkest moments, when she had barely felt human. He had never turned away from her when her sight allowed her information that no mortal should have known. He had never rejected her, though others had said she was taken by the Devil.  
  
With a sigh, she pushed the bedding away. Her bare feet met the floor, once again reassured by the carpet that covered the wood, rather than the hard, cold stone that had so recently made up her previous residence.   
  
Elain turned her doorknob, all too aware of the voices that had lured her out before.  
  
But none greeted her. Instead, she found the quiet ticking of the grandfather clock, and the silence of a house whose inhabitants had found their rest for the day.   
  
She made her way to the door where she knew she would find Lucien. He seemed to be the only one who understood, who would accept her for who she was. Even if she didn’t understand her own power of discernment, Elain knew that she could trust Lucien to help her through that journey.  
  
Elain turned the doorknob of his bedroom door, expecting to find him asleep. She felt a twinge of guilt at interrupting his rest.   
  
But in the end, it wasn’t necessary.  
  
When she opened the door, she saw two figures on the bed. Lucien and Azriel were intwined, nude. Azriel was on his hands and knees on the bed, while Lucien had made a space for himself between his half-brother’s legs, and was thrusting his hips in a regular rhythm that they both seemed to lose themselves in.   
  
Elain let her hand fall away from the door and watched with curiosity as they took their pleasure in one another.   
  
Lucien murmured in a voice that was only audible to the two of them, while Azriel had lost all sense of language, of thought, as Lucien drove his cock into him.   
  
Elain clutched at the hem of her nightgown as she watched them move, tilting her head to see more. She wouldn’t disturb them, not for the world, but she waited to leave until she could witness Lucien come, stiffening and gripping Azriel’s hips with urgency as he found his release.  
  
Slowly, quietly, Elain closed the bedroom door and returned to her own. 


	8. A New Crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain and Lucien investigate a new crime that seems unconnected to those they have previously looked into. At dinner, she confronts Lucien about what she witnessed the evening before.

When Elain woke the next morning, she took her time getting dressed for breakfast.   
  
It was early in the morning, and the sun had not yet risen. She had barely rested in that night, torn between trying to understand what she had witnessed, and trying to keep her hands from venturing beneath her nightgown. What she had seen the night before had surprised her, but at the same time she felt that she should have known to expect it. It wasn’t just the shared glances between Azriel and Lucien, but the way that they managed to communicate without saying anything, without even looking at one another.  
  
Elain had known that possibility once, with Graysen. It went deeper than any bond she had known before. And having once experienced it, Elain felt she should have been able to recognize it in others.   
  
Yet she had not. It didn’t leave her at a disadvantage, quite, and yet she was off-kilter. Elain had thought she had a certain relationship with Lucien and now knew that this was something he shared with someone else.   
  
That is was his own brother didn’t factor into her thoughts.  
  
When she finally joined Lucien at the breakfast table, Elain had made a decision. There were few people in her life that she trusted, especially when it came to those who understood the way that she knew things that others did not. The way that someone loved, or who they loved, did not matter. It was merely the idea of caring for someone else that mattered, in the end. Even if they were imperfect, even if others might shun them for the way that they cared.  
  
Lucien was spooning scrambled eggs onto his plate when he interrupted her reverie.  
  
“Elain,” he began, “Would you like to come with me today to the station? There is a new crime scene and they would like my expertise. I think that you might be able to add something to the investigation. However, it is,” he said as he consulted his watch, “Imperative that we leave as soon as possible. If you are able to assist me, I would greatly appreciate it.”  
  
The image of his naked hips thrusting into Azriel brought Elain back to reality.  
  
“I will come with you. I would like to be of assistance, of course.”  
  
They spent the rest of the morning in their usual conversation, finishing their breakfast quickly, touching on sensitive topics, but never quite enough to pierce the surface of what sorts of relationships they had with one another. Elain would speak to Lucien about his connection with Azriel, but gathered around breakfast, with servants within earshot, was surely not the time or place.  
  
*****  
  
When they arrived at the station, they were quickly called away to the scene of a new crime. The body had been discovered early in the morning, before the sun had come up. Lucien berated the officers who had not alerted him to the crime in time, and then dismissed them with a wave of the hand.  
  
“Elain, it seems that we have a new species of crime to look at.” Lucien paused.   
  
“I am aware of Mr. Darwin’s work, Lucien. I understand the metaphor. But what is it that we should go and investigate?”  
  
He looked up at Elain and smiled. Of course she would know to what he eluded.   
  
“This murder has been of a rather bloodier sort than we are used to. If you are willing, I would like to know what information you can provide.”  
  
Elain smiled. “Let’s be off, then. We don’t want the corpse to catch a chill while we wait.”  
  
*****  
  
They entered the poor side of town not long after they left the police station. The difference between the poor side of the city and the respectable side was a matter of income, not morals, which Elain reminded Lucien of before they crossed the threshold. Although he seemed a sympathetic sort, she had encountered plenty of people who would dismiss the actions of the lower classes as the result of poor breeding and nothing more.   
  
Having seen exactly how those at the upper echelon of society tended to comport themselves, Elain was just as likely to attribute humanity to those at the lower end. Elain had spent enough time wanting for basic necessity that she understood how much the need for food, water, or clothing could influence one’s sense of what was right. And she had also spent enough time at the upper end of the social hierarchy that she knew exactly how ruthless one could be when the limited resource was a spotless reputation.  
  
When they entered the worn-out shell of a house, a shudder went through Elain. She gripped Lucien’s arm, as much to steady herself as to keep out the cold. There was a lack of life here, despite the coughs and the creaking of floorboards. This was a building full of lives waiting to pass on to the next. It filled Elain with sadness, to imagine that these were people who had nothing to look forward to in life except for its passing.  
  
They were guided to the actual crime scene by Mr. Black. The floors creaked underfoot and the ceiling had a gaping hole that allowed in the rain and other weather. Even now, it rained down ashes, as if the fire that had surely damaged the building had been recently extinguished. While Elain may have thought that allowing others to live in such poverty was against the law, she was not there to condemn the class structure. She was there to investigate a potential murder, and so she concentrated her efforts there.  
  
Elain and Lucien entered a one-room apartment, Mr. Black opening the door before them, while Lucien gripped her sleeve to ensure that she was behind him. Elain peered over his shoulder to see what might lie before them.   
  
A man’s body was strewn across a mattress that rested on the floor. The fabric of the mattress was soaked with blood, and small streaks of blood crossed the walls in a pattern she assumed could reveal some sort of information, if only she were informed enough to interpret it. But that was not her skill.  
  
Instead, Elain approached the body, holding her palms out to the corpse. She didn’t receive information this way, but some part of her felt like she should be more connected, more invested in what had happened in the crimes she investigated. It was as if she could find a way to make herself open to the individual, then they might reveal themselves to her, despite the fact that they no longer existed in a place she could reach.  
  
Lucien traversed the perimeter of the room, taking the corpse in from multiple angles. He consulted with the crime scene photographer about where he should set up his camera, speaking in hushed whispers that indicated respect for the deceased. Even though it was likely a man who had found himself a laudanum addict and at the mercy of those who could provide the drug, Elain watched as Lucien took as much care with this man as he had with Mr. Van der Lynden. A murder victim from one of the finest families in the city and one who might take weeks to identify were of equal value to Lucien, and Elain stored this fact away with the countless others she had noted over the past months.  
  
She saw the crime as if it were happening in front of her eyes. The victim had come here, had seen this as a place he could rest in safety. He had even gone so far as to trust someone else enough to bring them here. Perhaps it was someone who provided his drug. Or perhaps it was someone who had the same habit. Yes - there - there was the other figure who had joined the man here.  
  
“John Smith,” Lucien said, breaking into her thoughts.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“That’s the name that the deceased had registered with the landlord. Of course it’s likely a fake, but we will need to keep investigating.” Lucien placed a hand on Elain’s arm. “Are you alright?”  
  
“Yes,” she answered. “His name was not John. And the person he invited here was not a friend.”  
  
Lucien chuckled. “You could say that.” He indicated the blood spatters on the wall, and then pointed to a kitchen knife that had been discarded on the floor. “A lover is more likely. A crime of passion, committed while both parties were under the influence.”   
  
Lucien held up a bottle to Elain’s nose, and she sniffed. A spicy, medicinal smell met her senses, one she assumed was the offending drug. “Laudanum?”   
  
“Yes, I’m afraid so. It can be quite deadly, if one allows it to take over one’s own faculties.”  
  
“Or if it causes one to trust the wrong person.”  
  
Lucien smiled. “Indeed.” He kneeled next to the victim once more, moving his face from side to side to take in his features. “Well, this man will be identified, and then interred. And meanwhile, you and I will return home. The photographer will provide us with the images in a week. I don’t think we need to act in haste, in this case. It is not likely to be repeated.”  
  
“No,” Elain agreed. She closed her fists. “Let’s return home and put the pieces together.”  
  
*****  
  
At dinner, Elain found herself alone with Lucien. Azriel had retired early, claiming he had a headache. She saw her chance, and waited for the valet to leave the dining room before she spoke.   
  
“Lucien, I would like to speak with you about something.” Elain set her napkin down on the table, indicating that she was finished eating.   
  
Lucien returned the gesture. “Well, this seems serious. What is it you would like to discuss? Cook’s competence? Because I promise you, Elain, I have tried to explain often enough just how I would like the roast seasoned.” He smirked, but it quickly left his face when Elain failed to return the expression.  
  
“Lucien, I saw you last night.”  
  
“What do you mean? Before we retired for the evening?”  
  
“I mean I woke up in the middle of the night and went to find you. And then I saw you with Azriel. In your bedroom.” She took a deep breath, and continued. “I wanted to let you know that I am aware of what goes on in your room, in the night.”  
  
Lucien set down his knife a fork with a gentle clink against the china.   
  
“And what do you have to say of it?” he asked.  
  
“Nothing.” Elain set down her silverware. “I think that we love who we love and there is no accounting for it. And that as long as we treat one another with kindness and dignity, that is all that matters.”  
  
“Kindness and dignity?” Lucien echoed. “That is what matters to you?”  
  
“Of course.” Elain seemed surprised, that such a bare essential might seem a surprise to Lucien. She stood to excuse herself for the evening, but Lucien followed her to the dining room door.  
  
“And what have I shown you, Elain?” His hand gripped her arm and then traveled up, to caress her bare neck. “What would you say that I have to offer you?” Lucien brushed his fingertips over her chest, the slight cleavage that was revealed by the low neck of her dress.  
  
Elain felt her breath quickening in a way that it never had before with another, except in her imagination.   
  
“I want what you would give me,” she answered. She grasped his hand and pressed it down into her flesh, forcing him to grasp what little bosom her dress exposed. “I want you to show me what you want. And to make me want the same.”  
  
She lowered his hand to his side, and turned, excusing herself to her room for the evening.


	9. The Christmas Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain, Lucien, and Azriel have a night on the town at a ball where they run into many of their former acquaintances. It doesn’t go well, and they have to leave early when Elain encounters more than one person she would have preferred to avoid. AKA all the best scandals happen when everyone is dressed up and drinking.

A few weeks passed with no more mention of what Elain had witnessed that evening, and the warmth of Lucien’s touch became a memory. It was one she conjured up every night when she was alone, but a memory, nonetheless. She had a suspicion that she might not be a welcome intruder on the relationship that he and Azriel shared, and she had no wish to be a nuisance. Especially not when they were the first two people to treat her with kindness since she had been sent away.  
  
Two weeks before Christmas, Lucien found Elain sitting by the fire with a book. The afternoons had grown too cold for her to visit her courtyard, but the seat by the fire was comfortable and gave her a view of the outdoors. She had, however, taken to staring into the flames until Lucien and Azriel would break into her reverie, usually to tell her dinner was ready.  
  
When Lucien found her this afternoon, she was consumed by her book, and not the sight of the flames. Her feet were curled underneath her and her lap covered by a blanket. She couldn’t have looked more at home if she tried.  
  
Reading was a welcome break from their investigations. The previous crime had been solved rather quickly, somewhat to her disappointment. The bottle of laudanum had been traced to a druggist in a nearby neighborhood via its manufacturing label. He was then able to identify the victim, and the man who had come to the store with him. It was merely a moment’s work to conclude that, given the victim’s lack of possessions, the motive was simple robbery, the violence of the thing being enhanced by their dependence on the drug.   
  
Lucien sat across the fire, facing Elain. She closed her book and looked up to smile at him. “This is a welcome distraction. Come to tell me something interesting?” Elain’s proficiency at casual conversation was improving by the week, and Lucien was glad at every time she pulled a laugh from him or Azriel.   
  
She wasn’t sure when the first time she smiled at him was, but each time he looked as if he needed to gasp for breath.  
  
“Unfortunately, no. Or perhaps, depending on how you view it. I have a suggestion for you, regarding our serial killer.”   
  
A shadow passed over Elain’s face and she set her book on the end table nearby. “I think I’d like to hear it. It’s been weeks without any break or new information.”   
  
Lucien intertwined his fingers and pressed his palms together. He looked down at his shoes, and Elain guessed that these were the signs of his guilt.  
  
“Really, Lucien, you’ve taken me to see dead murder victims, it surely can’t be that bad?” she teased.  
  
“I would like to invite you to a ball. The annual Van der Lyden Christmas ball. It won’t be held by Beatrice, of course, but the Trevors.” Lucien searched Elain’s face, but her world narrowed too much to notice.  
  
“So it is that bad…” Elain began. She settled her feet on the floor. Sweeping the blanket off of her lap, she stood to fold it and replace it on the back of her chair.   
  
Lucien stood. “Elain, you don’t have to come. I know that it is likely you will encounter people you would probably rather avoid. I would never have suggested it if I didn’t think you might be harmed in any way, or that you couldn’t handle yourself.”  
  
They watched one another over the light of the fire, a calm coming over Elain’s face that Lucien must have recognized as a mask.  
  
“What would you like me to do, while I’m there?” she asked.  
  
“I would like you to search into people’s… well, into their souls, I suppose.”  
  
Elain giggled and covered her mouth with her hand.   
  
“Well,” he continued, “I don’t really know how else to explain what it is that you do. Any way that I try to explain it sounds-“  
  
“Crazy,” Elain finished.  
  
Lucien sighed. “Look, Elain, I know that you have been through a lot. And that many of your former acquaintances are not the type to take you at your word. Or worse.”  
  
She winced.  
  
“But chances are,” he continued, “The killer will attend this ball. She is hunting for the richest people in the city, and anyone who attends the ball is either rich, well-bred, or looking to be connected to either.”  
  
Elain sat back down in her chair, tucking her legs underneath herself again. “Alright, I’ll come with you,” she said. “On one condition.”  
  
*****  
  
Given that the annual Van der Lyden Christmas ball could not occur - propriety meant that the widow must forgo the pleasure so soon after the patriarch’s passing - the Trevors had taken up the mantle. They consulted with Beatrice, of course. It was a heavy burden to bear, to replace the foremost family in this tradition, but it had to be done. There might have been a shocking lack of weddings the next summer, and therefore new family connections, if this ball were not able to provide young suitors the opportunity to propose.   
  
Elain had received her father’s inheritance weeks ago, and luckily had ordered new dresses so that she had one she could wear to this ball. It wasn’t from Worth - she hadn’t had the time to order dresses quite that fine - but she figured that it wouldn’t do much good to draw attention to herself. While others would see this as a chance to make an impression on society, Elain would have as soon blended in with the draperies.   
  
When she descended the stairs to greet Lucien and Azriel, she was afraid that might not be possible. Her pale blue dress was accentuated by lace at the sleeves, while daisies and Calla lilies made of silk graced the panels flowing from her waist. She wore a strand of pearls at her neck, and no other jewelry. Azriel had presented them to her the evening before, murmuring something about how they would complement her complexion.  
  
Lucien and Azriel both started when they noticed her and bowed to make way. Lucien offered his arm, and she swore that color rose in his cheeks.   
  
“Are you ready to face the lions?” he asked.   
  
“As long as you remember our bargain,” she answered. Looking back at Azriel, she indicated the front door with a tilt of her head. “Come along, Azriel. I need both of my friends with me, if I am to withstand this night.”   
  
Falling behind them, Azriel followed as they left the house and entered the carriage.  
  
*****  
  
Arriving at the Trevors’ mansion was a task and a half. All of the best society in the city was attending, each of them insisting on arriving by individual carriage or hansom, the women fussing over how far they would have to walk. Elain couldn’t blame them. If she had plans to spend the evening dancing in new slippers, she might have been concerned about the same. As it was, she wanted to scan the room and leave as quickly as possible.   
  
By the time they entered the ballroom, the dancing was well underway and the room was sweltering. A line of woman were resting on benches along the perimeter of the room, fanning themselves and being offered glasses of cool water by concerned spouses or suitors. Elain remembered such scenes well from her youth. From before the fire.  
  
Turning to Lucien, she asked where he wanted her to concentrate her efforts.  
  
“See if you notice anyone new, or anyone who seems like they are trying to blend.”  
  
“Like we are?”  
  
“Yes, well, you and I grew up in this milieu. Whoever we are looking for did not.” Lucien released Elain’s arm and looked down at her. “I know that you remember many of these people, and that you have not seen them since you were a child, in many cases. I will remember our bargain. In the meantime, Azriel and I are going to join the men just over there.” He looked towards a room off the main ballroom where a crowd of black tuxedos had gathered, each holding a glass of sherry or brandy or some other spirit.  
  
Elain flinched slightly to remember the booming sound of her father’s voice as he talked business with the men after important dinners.  
  
“Go,” she encouraged Lucien and Azriel. “I only need to stand and observe. I can do that quite well on my own.” She spoke with more bravery than she felt, given that this group of people could be more calculating than any criminal she might have faced thus far.   
  
“Remember the bargain,” Lucien said as he walked away, and Elain waved him away with her fan.  
  
She circulated the room for a while, taking in the various faces. Some were familiar, while others took inspection before she recognized. It wasn’t just that she had spent the year away, but that after her mother’s death, visits to the house had become less and less frequent. Slowly, one of the best families in the city was forgotten, until Elain had been shut away for what she thought was forever.  
  
That was history, however, and at the present, Elain had a killer to catch out.   
  
Feyre would have normally come to this event, but she had returned from her honeymoon so recently that she was more than likely settling into her new home with Rhysand. Nesta might have come, if she had known Elain would come. But that would have been a distraction, so Elain reminded herself to pay Nesta a visit to ensure her all was well.  
  
Elain clutched her fan at her waist as she walked, refusing offers to dance. While it might have been useful, to learn some gossip at the expense of a man who was hoping to impress her, she wasn’t quite ready. She eventually found a spot near the entrance, where a waft of cool air managed to make its way inside.  
  
She had nearly decided to give in to one of the offers to dance when Elain heard familiar masculine tones. They had at one point made her heart skip a beat. Now, they made her want to melt into the floor.  
  
Turning, she saw Graysen Bellomont. He stood before her with his brothers and two men she did not know. When he saw her, his mouth became pinched. He handed his glass to a waiter without bothering to look at him, and he strode over to her.   
  
“What are you doing here, Elain?”  
  
No pretense, then. Elain straightened her posture. “I have come here with an escort who was invited.”  
  
“Who?” Graysen looked around the room with disdain on his face, as if he would be able to sniff out in a moment who had the audacity to accompany her to the most exclusive social event of the year.   
  
“Lucien Vanserra.” The importance of the Vanserra family name caused Graysen to pause.   
  
“Yes, well,” he said, recovering quickly, “He is the disgraced one, isn’t he? How did you get out, anyway?”   
  
Elain gripped her ornate fan in her hands, keeping herself from opening it. All her hopes that he accepted the lie that she had been sent abroad were dashed. “Lucien is a gentleman, Graysen. And I never should have been sent to that place. You know that as well as anyone.”  
  
“He can have you. Spoiled goods, as far as I’m concerned.” Graysen sneered. “And look, he’s brought his pretty man servant with him. I can imagine the sort of life you lead at their house.”  
  
Elain turned and walked away, not bothering with formalities. If she’d been a man, she might have challenged him to a duel, if such things were done anymore.   
  
Scanning the ballroom, Elain decided to accept an invitation to dance a cotillion. She might as well sweep around the room, if she were to get the full scope of it and forget about Graysen. Her former fiancé had left her to rot in that place, taking the side of his superstitious family over hers. And this despite their history, the love between them. Elain had learned quickly that love was not a cure-all, and certainly would not transcend notions of class.   
  
As the stranger swept her around the room and spoke inanities, Elain watched those around her. All the usual faces were there. The extended Van der Lyden family, who were, no doubt, complaining about the failures of the Trevors in comparison to their own dear grandmother’s capable social graces. The Bellomonts and the Vanserras were in attendance, including Lucien’s older brothers. Few of the people she saw were new, and yet one or two faces were unfamiliar. No doubt they were the nouveau riche who hoped to marry into one of the aforementioned families.   
  
Elain nearly pitied them, if they hadn’t all been the sort to accept the easy lie that she had been in the South of France with an aging aunt, though she had been in that cold, hard cell all the while. Even though Graysen clearly knew the truth, she knew that the lie was easier to accept, for most of them. And so she would be the girl caught between two worlds, either the one who had spent a year getting a European education, or the one who had an unnatural connection to the Devil. Only Lucien, Azriel, and her sisters knew that neither was the truth.   
  
Bowing to the stranger who had invited her to dance, Elain took her place at the periphery of the ballroom. She had made note of a few new figures, those who seemed eager to please and ingratiate themselves with the old guard. Elain made a mental note of who she could eliminate from suspicion, reminding herself to make a list of families, and their members, who would have no interest in murder for profit.  
  
When Elain stopped at near the entrance of the home and turned to search for Lucien and Azriel, her path was blocked by a figure in deep red. The pleated and draped silk was cut in a square neckline, from which dripped ropes of gems. The complementing deep auburn hair was such that Elain would never forget.  
  
Amarantha was a woman who made a striking impression wherever she went, even if others didn’t have the same experience with her that the Archerons had. Her beauty was cut from stone, cold and cruel.   
  
“Elain, darling,” Amarantha said in mock surprise. She surely had noticed Elain and waited for this moment for them to be alone. “What a pleasure to see you here.” Amarantha kissed Elain on either cheek, and she was forced to do the same. Stepping back, Elain made a polite curtsey.   
  
“Amarantha. I haven’t seen you here in a while.” Elain looked around the room. “In fact,” she said, turning back to Amarantha, “I don’t think I’ve even seen you since I was a child. Since you moved away. Why did you move away, again?”  
  
Amarantha’s face darkened. It was perhaps not the best idea to put the woman on her guard so soon, but Elain could not help resenting her when she had been instrumental in convincing their father to gamble away a large part of his fortune soon after her mother’s death.   
  
If greed knew when to take advantage of a tenuous emotional state, Amarantha was its master.  
  
“Well, one makes marriages, and sometimes they don’t quite work out. Especially when one’s husbands drop. Like. Flies.” Amarantha’s fingers stepped in the air at each word until she curled them together in a fist. Laughing, she brushed away the past. “I have missed you, my dear. Where are your sisters, I wonder?”  
  
“Feyre is recently married,” Elain answered. “She has just come back from traveling, and would have come if she weren’t busy establishing her home. And Nesta is surely busy planning her upcoming marriage.”  
  
“So, you don’t know for sure, do you?” Amarantha sniffed with disdain. “I do miss seeing your family at these events. It has been so long, after all. I was beginning to wonder if you had dropped out of all polite society. We must stay in touch.”  
  
Elain made to curtsey and excuse herself, but Amarantha continued.  
  
“And of course your poor, dear mother,” Amarantha crooned. “She would have adored all of this. I’m quite curious to know what she might have made of the changes the Trevors have implemented. And the changes that are now present in her dear Elain.”  
  
Amarantha pulled on her silk gloves after the servant handed them to her, one at a time, the tight red fabric sliding up her elbows. “Not all of us are blessed with a steady sense of propriety, and too soon find ourselves going astray when we lose the benefit of a good maternal example. Although, I’m not sure you had that to begin with, did you, my dear?”  
  
Amarantha reached up to cup Elain’s cheek and made a soothing sound while the room began to spin. Elain let the woman’s hand rest on her skin as she looked around for Lucien, for Azriel, for anyone who might come to her aid. A sense of surreality came over her and the last months disappeared. Elain blinked and found herself back on the floor of the asylum, caked in dirt and grime and her own waste, the perimeter of her cell making up the borders of her world.   
  
Something was in her hand. Looking down, Elain saw the fan she carried, the one that Lucien had given her after they made their deal. She opened it and waved its white lace in her face, attempting to circulate the air and summon help.  
  
As Lucien approached, Amarantha pulled her hand away from her cheek and stepped back.  
  
“Lucien, it seems that our Elain is not feeling well. I think it might be best if you take her home. Well, to your home, I suppose.” With a smirk, Amarantha turned towards the door.   
  
“Amarantha,” Lucien said. He wrapped his arm around Elain’s waist, supporting her before she fell to her knees.   
  
The woman in red turned and pulled her fur cape tighter over her shoulders. “Yes, Lucien?”  
  
Azriel stepped up behind Lucien and Elain, creating a united front.  
  
“Stay away from her,” was Lucien’s only reply.  
  
Amarantha smirked and exited out into the night.  
  
Lucien turned to Elain and gripped her face in his hands. “Are you alright?”  
  
“Yes,” she said, nodding. She gripped his hands in her own. “Please, take me home.”  
  
Azriel left to order a hansom, not bothering to wait for their own coachman to make his way through the throng so they could leave.  
  
When they were tucked safely inside, Lucien took Elain under his arm. “I told you I would come for you, Elain,” he whispered into her hair as the hansom bumped along the road. “I will always come for you.”


	10. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After her setback, Elain sequesters herself in her room. Azriel and Lucien take turns caring for her as she recovers, and they bond over dark pasts. Also they enjoy some quality banter.

Elain woke on the floor.  
  
It wasn’t, however, the cold, hard floor of her cell at the asylum. The scents drifting towards her were not those reminiscent of bodily functions and decay, but of warmth and home. When she pressed her hands into the ground, they weren’t met with grit and dirt and mud, but a soft carpet. The familiar pale blue and white pattern caught her gaze and Elain rested, propped up, staring at its intricate swirls.   
  
If her entire world had been reduced to this patch of home, she might have been convinced she belonged.   
  
As it was, the cruel echoing voices of the previous evening assured her that she did not belong, and indeed, had no idea where she might find peace.  
  
Elain tore her eyes away from the carpet and looked down at herself. Someone had covered her with a blanket, but left her there on the floor. Perhaps she had cried, or fought.   
  
Turning on her back, Elain stared at the ceiling. A small fire had been lit and its warmth enveloped her. When a sigh sounded from the corner of the room, she let her head fall to the side to find its source.  
  
Lucien sat a chair, covered in a blanket. His forehead was resting in one hand, propped up to help him sleep in the uncomfortable seat. He lifted his head and slowly blinked.   
  
“Elain.”  
  
Standing, Lucien walked to stand over her. He extended a hand and she grabbed it, pulling herself up to standing. She leaned forward against his chest and he pushed a dirty strand of hair from her forehead.  
  
“Did you have a nice time on the floor?” he asked.  
  
“I suppose so. Would I not be moved?”  
  
Lucien let his hand trail down her back. “No, indeed. Even nearly unconscious, you’re a force. We thought it best to leave you there. I hope you were comfortable, in some measure.”  
  
Elain pulled away from him and nodded. “In a way.”  
  
“What would you like to do?”   
  
Elain looked at her unused bedclothes. “I’d like to stay here.” Padding over to her bed, she crawled underneath the blankets and fell asleep.  
  
*****  
  
Two days later, she woke to find Azriel on the same chair Lucien had slept on. Azriel had a book, the same one she had been reading before their evening at the ball. He set it on his lap as she propped herself up on her elbows.   
  
“How long have I been asleep?”  
  
“The ball was three days ago,” Azriel answered. “Lucien and I have been taking turns at watching over you. Mrs. Bates would have never left your side if we hadn’t threatened to give her the boot.”  
  
Elain smiled. “Poor Mrs. Bates.”  
  
Azriel stood. “I’ll get Lucien for you.”  
  
“Wait, Azriel.” Elain reached a hand out to him. He sat on the bed next to her and she grasped his hand.  
  
“Thank you. For everything. I know it hasn’t been easy for you, having me in the house and splitting Lucien’s attention.”  
  
Azriel made a move to protest but Elain silenced him. “I know how much you mean to each other.” She paused, looking him in the way, quietly praying that her expression alone would be enough to tell him that she knew the full extent of his relationship with his half-brother.   
  
He pulled his hand from hers. The message had been received.   
  
Before he could speak again, Elain cut in, her voice bright. “I have never felt welcomed more in any home, besides my own. And even then it was not guaranteed. So I want you to know that you and Lucien, you have become like my family. I would never betray any confidences I may receive while here.”  
  
Azriel slumped back down on the bed. “I’m not sure how Lucien found you, or what we did to deserve you.” He grabbed her hand and kissed it.   
  
Elain shook her head. “I’m the lucky one, Azriel. Truly.”  
  
He stood, smoothing the blanket. “I’ll get Lucien for you.”  
  
*****  
  
When Lucien came in, he was paler than Elain had seen him before, which was saying something.  
“How are you? Do you need anything?”  
  
Elain pushed herself up to a seated position on the bed. “I am recovering quite nicely, I think. The care here is a change from the asylum, where I might have been kicked around to see how I reacted, as a method of diagnosis.” She had attempted a joke, but Lucien wasn’t taking the bait.  
  
“Are you really comfortable though? I’m sorry we left you on the floor, but you wouldn’t be convinced otherwise.”  
  
“Lucien, of course I am comfortable. I could hardly be otherwise, with you and Azriel and Mrs. Bates hovering around.” Elain looked pointedly at the closed bedroom door, and Lucien followed her eyes.   
  
“Mrs. Bates!” he called out. The door swung open immediately.   
  
“Yes, Mr. Vanserra. Do you need anything, Elain? Miss Archeron, I mean?”  
  
“No, thank you, Anna.”  
  
Lucien looked between them, and Elain nearly giggled. Mrs. Bates backed out of the door and winked before shutting it.  
  
“Elain? Anna? What is this new development?”  
  
Elain waved her hand. “I have never been one for formal titles.”  
  
“Really? That isn’t what Azriel told me.”   
  
Elain furrowed her brow. “I barely knew him, though! I hardly even remembered basic propriety, let alone who I was.”  
  
“I know. I’m only teasing, Elain.”  
  
She sighed and fell back on her pillows.   
  
“Are you truly recovering? Do you need me to fight a duel on your behalf? Or is there some other service I can render?”  
  
“No,” she answered. “Just sit with me.” She patted the edge of the bed and he took the invitation.  
  
“Tell me something new. Something that has happened since I had my unscheduled nap.” She settled into the pillows and grabbed his hand, warming it between her own.  
  
“Alright. Well, the weather has been quite shit since you’ve been asleep.”  
  
“Mr. Vanserra! Such language around a young lady…” They grinned at one another.  
  
“In other news, your appearance at the ball has been a topic of conversation.”  
  
“I don’t want to hear about that.”  
  
“Alright, Elain, what would you like to talk about?”  
  
“Talk to me about murder,” she answered. Her smile faltered, however. Lucien squeezed her hand and slid himself closer to her.  
  
“My dear, you do know the way to a man’s heart. Shall I begin with the good news, or the good news?”  
  
“Why, the good news, surely, Mr. Vanserra.”  
  
He nodded forcefully. “There have been two murders in the city since you slept, and they have both been solved. Would you like to know the motives?”  
  
“Oh, yes!” Elain exclaimed. “Please, tell me about the misfortunes of others so that I may bear my own with a sense of ease.”  
  
“The first unfortunate victim, one Mr. Smythe, was found lying bloody in bed. It seems that his wife did not appreciate him dipping his wick in a candle other than her own.”  
  
Elain clamped her hand over mouth to stifle a laugh.   
  
“And the second, poor soul, was found floating in the river. Of course the marks around his neck ruled out suicide, and it was determined that he was quite the cheat at cards, which his poker partners did not approve of.”  
  
“You know, Lucien,” Elain said, “I wouldn’t quite say that this news lifts my spirits, but it surely makes our own problems pale in comparison, does it not?”  
  
“Indeed, Elain.” He paused a moment. “Elain, I’m afraid I have to ask you some questions about that evening.”  
  
“I know.” She raised an eyebrow. “You realize that I can know things without my power, right? That I can just be observant?”  
  
“Of course, you have those powers of observation that all females seem born with.”  
  
Elain snorted. “You mean those powers that anyone could have if they weren’t bred to act as if they didn’t need them because the fairer sex would handle the observation for them? Yes, those powers.” She squeezed his hand, taking it between her own. “Go ahead, Lucien.”  
  
“What happened with Graysen?” Lucien asked. “Don’t look at me like that. I was watching you the whole time. I heard rumors of what had happened between you, but since nothing was formally announced…”  
  
Elain sighed. “I knew you would ask. Graysen and I were engaged. I was visiting the family at a dinner and overheard some of the men talking about a business deal. I didn’t mean to hear more than they said, but I can’t always control it.” She shrugged. “They were going to make a poor choice. I pulled Mr. Bellomont aside and tried to explain that it would be detrimental. He wouldn’t hear of it. Then, when the deal went bad not a week later and he lost his investment, he said that it was proof I am bewitched. He said it’s too bad that the witch trials no longer occur, because that’s what I deserved.”  
  
Lucien clenched her hand.  
  
“I know that he was merely angry. He spoke out of frustration. But it still hurt. And of course he then convinced Graysen that we could never be connected. Since we hadn’t publicly announced the engagement yet, it was easy to pretend that it had never happened.” A tear glinted in the corner of Elain’s eye and fell silently to her pillow.  
  
“How do you do it, Elain?” Lucien asked quietly.  
  
“How do I do what?” She looked over at him, wiping away another tear.  
  
“How do you talk about those people with understanding, even after what they’ve done to you?”  
  
“It’s not that difficult, really, to believe the best in people. Even if they prove you wrong. It’s not confirmation that I am wrong to put my faith in them, only that they are experiencing something difficult, or something they don’t understand.”   
  
Lucien leaned forward, resting his head on Elain’s chest. Her breathing arrested for a moment, until he sat back up.  
  
“I hate to ask you this, Elain, but did you see anything else? Anyone of note?”  
  
“Ah, yes, the real purpose for me to have been there. Yes, I did. There are a few extended family members, some of Charles’ family who moved away and are now looking to make nice with the new widow. I can make you a list of which ones are new to our fair city’s society.”  
  
“How could you tell?”  
  
Elain looked at Lucien. “No supernatural powers were involved. I merely noticed who was trying to hard to ingratiate themselves, whose fashions were a season out of date. It’s surprisingly easy, when you are used to noticing these things in order to mirror them, to blend in.”  
  
“Graysen?”   
  
Elain scoffed. “He and his father are far too pious to even dream of something like that. They’d likely starve to death before commit a sin, and think themselves righteous as they expired.”  
  
Lucien held back a laugh.   
  
“There is someone else, though. And I hope you don’t think I am letting my experience color my judgement.”  
  
“Amarantha?” Lucien asked.  
  
“Yes.” Elain twisted the edge of her blanket in her hands. “She fits the profile. Someone who doesn’t quite fit in, who has a history of trying to gain power, through marriage or inheritance. She has a string of dead husbands as well. Three, that I am aware of.” Elain’s fingers twitched in the blanket and she extended them as far as she could, trying to control the muscles.   
  
“I will look into her, as well as the others you mentioned. Make me a list, and if you could, include something of their histories, the ways that you could tell they didn’t quite fit. It will help us to determine if their behaviors have been changing lately, when I have my men watch them.”  
  
“Of course. I think I am ready to leave this bed, finally.”  
  
Lucien patted her leg. “I’m glad to hear it.   
  
Elain took stock of the moment, and then took a chance. “Why don’t you trust your family, Lucien?”  
  
A minute passed before he answered, and she waited for him to storm out of the room or shut down her inquiry. “Can you not search my soul to find the answer?” He smirked.  
  
“Perhaps. But I’d rather you tell me,” she answered.   
  
“It is a long story that I’m sure would bore you.”  
  
Elain gestured around the room. “I have nothing but time, and a willing ear.”  
  
“Alright.” Lucien stood and clasped his hands behind his back. “How much of my history do you know, Elain?”  
  
“Not much, really,” she answered. “I only knew about your father, based on his business dealings. Your brothers always seemed like they were on the verge of causing the ruin of some poor girl’s reputation.” She picked at the lint on her blanket, avoiding Lucien’s eyes.  
  
“Did you know I was engaged?”  
  
Elain looked up with a start. “No. No I didn’t.”  
  
Lucien scoffed. “No, of course not. Why announce the marriage of a youngest son to a woman of no consequence?” He sat back down on the edge of the bed. “Her name was Jess. She was poor, or at least poor according to my father’s standards.”  
  
Elain glanced to her door, thinking of the night she had encountered a spirit in the abandoned room at the end of the hallway.   
  
“Jess is the reason that I was disowned.”  
  
Elain raised her eyebrows in surprise.   
  
“What, you think that the son of a man as successful as Beron would normally be allowed to live in this squalor? No, he would say he kicked me out, I would say I left, but either way the result is the same. I was planning to marry her. Jess. And then the fire came.”  
  
Elain sucked in a breath. The memory of the toll the fire had taken on her own family crowded her mind.   
  
“I was away on business when it happened. And it was,”  
  
“At night,” they said together.   
  
Elain chimed in. “When everyone was asleep. So many people had no chance.”  
  
The _tick tock_ of Lucien’s grandfather clock took the place of their voices as they fought memories that made breathing difficult.   
  
“Yes,” Lucien responded at length. “She was caught unaware, and I was on my way home. I was only able to make it into the foyer before I was forced from the building.” He gestured to his cheek, his ruined eye. “Every day, when I look at the mirror, I see the proof of my failure.”  
  
He stood, hands clasped again behind his back. “My father refused to admit the tragedy. Our family made it out unscathed, and my brothers took his side, as they do in everything. This building was nearly ruined, but they would only let me move back in with them during the repairs if I renounced her. If I refused to mourn. So I lived in a hotel, out of a suitcase, for months. Alone as I mourned the loss of that future.”  
  
“Lucien,” Elain whispered. “I’m so sorry.” She swallowed her own sobs, her own misery, to concentrate on his. Another time, perhaps, she would tell him her own memory of that night.  
  
“It’s too bad your family doesn’t fit the profile of the murderer we are looking for, isn’t it? Then I might have reason to tear them apart. For you,” she said.   
  
“I know you would,” Lucien responded.  
  
He leaned down, but instead of brushing his lips on her forehead, he met her own. His lips were warm and dry, but much softer than she had imagined, much gentler than when she had guided his hand to her breast those weeks ago.   
  
“Elain, I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered against her mouth.  
  
“I’m not so fragile as that,” she replied.  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Yes. But before we can get to that, we have a job to do.”  
  
“A job?” Lucien asked.  
  
“Yes.” Elain sat up in bed. “I’m ready. Let’s catch a killer.”


	11. Azriel is acting strangely...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain and Lucien continue to work on various murder cases, and Elain is puzzled by Azriel's strange behavior. They are interrupted in their investigation when they receive disturbing news about Azriel.

When Elain and Lucien returned the next evening from the police station, they found themselves laughing as they approached the front door. A stranger might have thought they were callous, to behave in such a way immediately after leaving a murder investigation, but it was the only method that Elain had found herself capable of dealing with the ways in which others had the habit of treating one another.  
  
Azriel was waiting for them at the door, and their laughter died at the sight of his furrowed brows.  
  
“Is something wrong?” Lucien asked. Azriel’s eyes scanned them each and he helped them out of their coats, handing them to the servant before answering.  
  
Azriel ushered them inside the door, glancing out onto the street before shutting it behind him. “No, nothing. I was just waiting for you.”  
  
The usual state that he was in during the afternoons and evenings had dissipated. Elain had attributed his normal enthusiasm to him merely having more energy later in the day. She had experienced it herself, with Nesta being much more approachable if one waited at least an hour after she had woken, but this change made her question that assumption about Azriel.  
  
“Azriel,” Lucien began to say, but he was cut off.  
  
“Mrs. Bates has assured me that dinner would be waiting for you when you came home, but we should head straight there so that we don’t keep them waiting,” Azriel said. It was the most he might have ever said in one utterance. He was always considerate of others, but this concern seemed unwarranted, given the trio’s habit of keeping unusual hours.  
  
“Of course,” Elain answered, placing a hand on his arm. “Might I have an escort to dinner, then?” She smiled up at him and caught Lucien’s look of relief out of the corner of her eye. Already, she had found herself a place here, a role she could fill that Lucien hadn’t realized would be lacking.  
  
They entered the candle-lit dining room and took their usual seats. Elain’s gracious attitude filled the room with syrupy sweetness, allowing everyone to focus on her instead of the strange mood Azriel had found himself in.  
  
They spoke about the weather, about some local gossip that might be of interest, and inevitably, the topic of conversation became the case that they were working on. The Widow, they had decided to call the killer, even though she never married her victims. It was more as if she acted with the intention of being tied to the victim, ensuring that assets were transferred to her before any legal contracts were binding, and then the target ended up dead, as well as much poorer than they had been before they met her.  
  
That Amarantha had acted in the same manner, albeit in the spotlight, seemed at the very least suspicious. Elain didn’t want to hope that the woman she credited with the destruction of her family had committed these crimes as well, but it was difficult to think of any other connections that were more likely.  
  
And so, with that attempt at being open-minded, they began to make a list of women - for Elain still insisted that the killer was female, despite Lucien’s initial suspicions about Graysen and his father - who had a habit of coming into society and then disappearing, seeming to fit in just long enough without being fully integrated into the tiny niches that the rich created amongst themselves.  
  
Elain and Lucien had spent most of dinner chatting about the details of another case that they had been working on when Azriel made an exasperated sound.  
  
“Sometimes, I hate the work you do,” Azriel said. His fork clanged down onto his plate and he stood. “Apologies, Elain, but I am tired and think I will retire early. Lucien.” He gave a quick bow before leaving the dining room.  
  
Elain looked to Lucien. “Did I say something wrong? Anything in particular?”  
  
Lucien placed his hand over hers. “No, Elain. I think that the case was perhaps too close to home, is all. I will go check on him, if you don’t mind.”  
  
Elain nodded and was left alone at the table. The case they had been discussing was of a child, a boy abused and abandoned and eventually sold into prostitution before his corpse had been discarded in an alleyway.  
  
While she had always thought of her gift as a way to help others, Elain had never supposed that someone so close to home might need the same assistance. With a polite smile to the servant attending to their dinner, she stood and gave instructions.  
  
*****  
  
Elain decided to leave Lucien and Azriel to their own devices, opting instead to read in bed before sleeping. They had a history that she could only begin to understand, and if their discussion had ignited some anger in him, she didn’t know its source. It would be best, she thought, to let the two of them work through those problems in the way they knew best.  
  
She was awoken to Lucien knocking on her door. “Elain,” he said, his voice coming through muted. “Elain, I need you.”  
  
Elain sat up in bed, mentally preparing herself for whatever scene they might need to investigate.  
  
“Come in,” she called out.  
  
Lucien strode into the room as if he had expected her to be fully dressed for the day, at this early hour, but upon finding her in her dressing gown, he averted his eyes.  
  
“I have been informed of another crime, we need to go see the body, I would like your expertise, or that is, your special skills, or what you would like to call it. I’m just not sure, and I think that your abilities might be useful, in this case.”  
  
Lucien averted his eyes as Elain stood from the bed, and she grinned.  
  
“Lucien?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Look at me,” she said.  
  
Lucien looked to the ceiling before granting her request, and finally took her in, with no small amount of guilt and sin on his face.  
  
“You burst in here, calling my name, early in the morning, and you expect to find me, what? Fully dressed? Do you think that I sleep corseted and wrapped in layers of fabric?” With each word, Elain stepped closer to Lucien.  
  
“Of course not. I apologize, Elain, I wasn’t thinking.”  
  
“Oh,” she said, dragging her finger up the front of his worsted vest. “So what did you hope to encounter here?” She rested her finger underneath Lucien’s chin, forcing him to look at her.  
  
“Certainly not this,” was his only reply.  
  
Elain released Lucien’s chin and turned to pull on her robe.  
  
“Alright, where are we going? What do you know about this case?” She tied the sash of her robe as she spoke, all the while noticing the Lucien did not seem to fully exist in that world, for the time being.  
  
“There has been another murder. A young boy, same profile as before. I want to leave before Azriel knows why we have left.”  
  
Elain crossed her arms. “Of course I will help. Now, could you please leave my room so I can dress?”  
  
Lucien stumbled, making his excuses, before leaving her alone in her room.  
  
*****  
  
At the crime scene, Elain was taken by a familiar sense of loss. She experienced this each time at a murder, but it was stronger when the victim was young.  
  
By the time they arrived back at the station, evidence, notes, and impressions in tow, Elain was exhausted. Lucien sat behind his desk, per usual, and Elain sat across from him, thumbing through his notes. She understood the motive behind this crime, thanks to her power, the logic or rationale behind it, but she would never understand it on a deeper level. She would never understand the person, the criminal who found the need to take others’ lives,  
  
Hours passed as they worked, discussing potential relevant information and coming up with theories together. Elain was done with it all, the constant immersion in darkness, when she slumped against the back of her seat.  
  
“Lucien,” Elain began, a lilt to her voice. She ran her fingers over the files that rested on the desk.  
  
“Yes, Elain?”  
  
“Why do you do this? It seems like, even before Jess, you were ready to reject your father’s way of life. Why?”  
  
Lucien sat on the edge of his desk. “Those are mighty heavy questions for this time of the day.”  
  
Elain glanced out his office window and was surprised to see the sun had begun to set. They had left before sunrise. “Would any other time of the day be more appropriate? For any of this?” She tried to keep the sadness from her voice, but it cracked slightly.  
  
“I suppose not,” Lucien conceded. He picked up a stack of papers and began to roll them in his hands.  
  
“You know my family’s business?” He waved in a direction that Elain supposed represented something of significance.  
  
“Steel?”  
  
“Or robber baron, if you’d like to use the term you mean.”  
  
“Alright,” Elain replied. “Robber baron. What of it?”  
  
“I had no interest, to put it lightly. I still don’t. And I thought that having older brothers, being the youngest, I would never have to submit to my father’s expectations. I learned very young that wasn’t the case. My brothers would torment me, just because they could. It was never that horrible,” he said, noting Elain’s alarmed expression. “They just took every opportunity they had to remind me that I was the youngest, would never be chosen first in anything.”  
  
Lucien poured a glass of whiskey that he kept in his desk. Elain shook her head when he offered her a pour.  
  
“I never had any interest in my father’s business. I saw what it did to my brothers, this constant need for one-upmanship, to put others down in order to drag one’s self up. He hurt many, many people in the process of making my family rich. And despite the fact that everyone in my family made it clear I would never inherit the lion’s share of the business, somehow, I was still to be held responsible. To carry the mantle of the family reputation, so to speak.” He drank what was in his glass in one gulp. “Even if that reputation was one that tended to disregard the law and pretend that power justified all morally questionable decisions.”  
  
“And so being here, working for the law?” Elain asked.  
  
“Ah, yes. I wondered to myself, one day, what would be the opposite of my father? Where could I do the most good?”  
  
“And prove an occasional thorn in his side?” Elain asked with a grin.  
  
“Of course. That is secretly the best part of my job, you know. I have the law on my side, and my father can never speak a word against that, lest I ask one of my colleagues to look into his business dealings a bit more closely.”  
  
“Can you tell me more about your connection to Azriel?” Elain moved forward in her chair, sitting on its edge. “Why did you choose one another, rather than acquiesce to your father’s requests, to stay on his good side? Heaven knows how much good someone with your heart and resources could do, if you had remained in his will.”  
  
Elain opened her mouth to speak again when they were interrupted by a knock at the door. One of the officers, someone who could count the numbers of months they had been on the job on one hand, opened the door and passed a cream-colored envelope to Lucien.  
  
Lucien took the letter from the officer and opened it brusquely.  
  
“Elain, we need to leave.”  
  
“What’s wrong?” She scanned his face and opened her palms, but couldn’t see anything beyond his pain.  
  
“We need to find Azriel.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain and Lucien rush home to find out what has happened to Azriel. More of his past is revealed.

Elain had followed Lucien home in silence. When they entered the house, he stalked through the doorway without so much as acknowledging Mrs. Bates and her handwringing. Elain gave her a small nod, a sign of gratitude for whatever they witnessed in the house and kept within its walls. Not only this evening, she suspected, but for many others before.  
  
Lucien practically ran up the stairs, and Elain gathered her skirts and followed quietly. She figured that giving him the time to see Azriel on his own was necessary, but she wouldn’t wait more than a minute. Not if her suspicions in the upstairs room she had never seen the interior of were confirmed.  
  
The door to Azriel’s room nearly came back on Lucien as he threw it open. Elain winced to see Lucien so shaken, though she supposed that of the three of them, Azriel had the calm act down best. Lucien would be the one to break first. Lucien would be the one taken to his knees by the suffering of others.  
  
She didn’t know whether she admired him, or pitied him for it.  
  
Pausing by the door, Elain waited to hear the soft, low murmur of male voices before she entered the room. Azriel was stretched out on his bed, his breathing labored, his chest rising and falling beneath the cotton sheets in an exaggerated motion. Yet when he looked over at her, pupils wide despite the light in the room, he smiled. Azriel smiling was something she only witnessed on those afternoons he returned home after having left for an extended period of time. She had never asked where he went, and he had never volunteered the information. The connection between those afternoons and the current emergency was now confirmed.  
  
A doctor was leaning over the bed, taking Azriel’s pulse. He murmured something to Lucien before glancing up at Elain. Lucien turned and looked at her, blinking, as if wondering where this intruder had come. But no - he reached his hand out to her, and she lifted her own in response. Walking to the side of the bed, she clasped his hand and asked if she could help.  
  
“Miss,” the doctor began, “I think it would be best if you leave. I need to give your friend something that will make him more sick than he is now. It won’t be pleasant.”  
  
Azriel reached up for his neck, straining. Elain had never seen someone trying so hard to breath, and failing.  
  
Lucien tightened his grasp on her hand and Elain shook her head. “No. Tell me what I can do.”  
  
The doctor looked to Lucien again, and Elain clenched her free hand.   
  
“She’s staying,” Lucien said shortly.   
  
“Elain,” Azriel slurred, “It’s so good to see you here.” His mouth stayed open as he panted for air.   
  
Elain frowned and placed her hands on his arm. “Azriel, I’m here. I’ll stay until you are better. Won’t we, Lucien?” She looked pointedly at Lucien, who seemed less present than any of them. When he failed to respond, she gently nudged him.   
  
“Yes, of course,” he stuttered. “Azriel, let the doctor look at you. Please.”   
  
Azriel had been batting the doctor away, but his arm collapsed at the request. “Of course.”   
  
Lucien had to leave the room when the next part of the process began. Azriel’s thrashing was contained by Elain and the doctor, and she ordered him to wait in the hallway while they worked.  
  
Elain held Azriel’s hand as the doctor forced an emetic down his throat, and then she held the bowl into which he was sick. The smell was no worse than anything she had dealt with before. The various body fluids that coated the walls and floors of the asylum had practically been enough to numb her sense of smell to only the most extreme odors. While she had almost forgotten that such unpleasantness existed, her old instincts to shut out all information but that which was necessary to survival kicked in quite nicely.  
  
Her time in the asylum had made her uniquely capable of dealing with trauma, which was an irony she would have loved to share with the doctor, if it wouldn’t have confirmed what she knew he was wondering every time he glanced at her. He was the same doctor who had attended to her there, but she had been dirty, unkempt, despairing - he was witnessing a much different Elain now. She would leave him to his suspicion that he knew her somehow.  
  
Elain quickly realized she was more capable of the job of caring for Azriel in this state, as Lucien had turned pale and had to leave the room at the idea of Azriel being held down so the doctor could administer the cure. For all that he had seen, the countless murder victims he had investigated, Lucien still wasn’t prepared to watch his brother - his lover - suffer. Elain wondered at this break in his fortitude, but didn’t pry any further.  
  
After the danger seemed to pass and even the doctor had given a breath of relief, Elain left Azriel’s room. Glancing behind as she left, she made a mental note to take better stock of her surroundings, next time she was there.   
  
Lucien was sitting in the hallway, back against the wall and head resting in his hands. When he heard Elain’s skirts, he jumped up. “How is he? I heard him stop being sick. Is that a good sign?”  
  
Elain touched his arm and then guided it so that he was supporting her own. “He is going to be just fine. The emetic worked, the drug is out of his system. Azriel is asleep now.” Upon seeing Lucien’s worried expression, she added, “And he is going to wake up again, Lucien.”  
  
He nodded, and allowed her to lead him to his own bedroom. As they walked the small distance down the hallway, the sounds of Mrs. Bates sobbing in relief reached them. Word traveled fast, in a household like this.   
  
She opened the door for them and waited for Lucien to take a seat by the fire a servant had started before taking a seat opposite him. His expression changed from one moment to the next, seeming to remember the positive memories in one minute, and then he frowned in the next. Elain waited, watching as he experienced the potential grief of the scene they had left behind them, and then let it pass.   
  
“Lucien,” she began, “Can you tell me what happened here tonight?” She sat straight, despite her exhaustion, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes wide.   
  
“Can you not tell?” Lucien retorted. “Can you not look into my soul?” He waved his hands in the air. “And see the truth there?”  
  
“Of course I could,” Elain began to say, but Lucien cut her off.  
  
“But you would prefer I tell you myself.” He sighed. “Alright. I will tell you part of it. But the rest is Azriel’s to tell.”  
  
Lucien spoke after a few minutes. He waited so long that Elain wasn’t sure if he would begin again, if she should stand and leave the room.  
  
“When Azriel was banished from my father’s household, it was more than banishment. He was made an example of.”  
  
“I only want to know your part of it, you realize,” Elain began.   
  
“Of course. But all of this, it is my fault. And so all of it is my part.” Lucien finally relaxed, slumping against the back of his seat. He stared into the fire as he continued.  
  
“Azriel was never going to be like anyone else. Too quiet, too intelligent for his own good. He always seemed to know what was happening in the household, before anyone else.” Lucien laughed gently. “Even before the people who were directly involved.”  
  
He glanced up at her. “You remind me of him, in that way. You both seem so innocent, yet you know so much.” Elain frowned at that. “But really,” Lucien continued, “You are paying attention. I think that originally, Azriel was more like you. But life has a way of making us hard. Oh yes, I see your expression. And you have experienced much, or more than other well-bred women your age have. But that doesn’t mean you know everything, Elain Archeron.”  
  
“And what is it that I don’t know, Lucien? What do you have to share, to make me wiser to the ways of the world?”  
  
Lucien laughed softly, and she could have sworn she saw lust in his eyes, if for but a moment.  
  
“There are acts behind closed doors that others deem sinful. But I suppose you know what I am referring to, don’t you, Elain?” Lucien looked away from the fire and watched her, unblinkingly.   
  
“What is your point, Lucien? Are you trying to shock me?”  
  
“Of course not. It’s only that when others have found themselves in the position you are in now, with the knowledge you have of my relationship with my brother, they are not quite so understanding. And so when my father found out, he threw Azriel out onto the streets, stripped of his small inheritance, disowned.”  
  
Lucien paused, and Elain waited for him to fill in the gaps.  
  
“I had already left home. Jess was gone. I had room. But my father never does things by half-measures. He has men he keeps on his payroll, for just such an occasion. As I said, Azriel was made an example of. I found Azriel, after what my father’s men had done to him, and I brought him here.”   
  
“And that’s when he began taking laudanum?” Elain asked gently.  
  
“Indeed. He was in such a state, Elain,” Lucien said. He choked back a sob. “They treated him like a piece of garbage, and it was by chance that Mrs. Bates was out that evening and passing the alleyway he had been left in. She alerted me immediately.”  
  
Elain knew that she was still dealing with an incomplete picture, but some of the exchanged glances and Azriel’s odder behavior finally made sense. Leaving in the afternoons must have been to purchase the pain medication he had finally overdosed on. And the source, the reason why he had begun taking it initially, was due to Lucien’s own father.   
  
“Lucien, thank you for sharing this. You have my confidence. I’m going to care for you. Both of you. I will check on him, now, and see what directions the doctor has for us.”  
  
“Azriel has experienced things that neither of us can imagine,” Lucien said, “But please don’t imagine that he is a victim, Elain.”  
  
Elain held up her hand. “Please, please don’t tell me any more. I want to hear it from him.”  
  
Lucien furrowed his brows. “Alright. But don’t be surprised if he is less than forthcoming, if you try.”  
  
Elain stood, folding her hands before her skirts. “I won’t ask more than he is willing to give.” With a polite curtsey, she left the room, and a bewildered Lucien behind. It didn’t matter, she reasoned, if he understood her motives or her rationale. He might know Azriel in ways she never would, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t understand something of the suffering he had endured. Even if she had never experienced it herself.  
  
While Elain’s powers - so she continued to refer to them - allowed her insight into a target’s mind, there were aspects of their lives she could never understand. It was as if she had a glimpse into a moment, but that was all. The attendant context, the suffering, the joy, the confusion, she couldn’t quite access.   
  
All she could do was let others be who they needed to be. It was what Azriel and Lucien had shown her, allowing her to define herself, rather than letting her past dictate her present identity. It gave her a freedom she had never known existed before.  
  
Elain pushed open the door to Azriel’s room, peering inside to see the doctor packing away his equipment. Azriel was asleep in his bed, his breathing even.   
  
The doctor started when he saw Elain enter, but remembered to nod his head. “Miss, thank you for your assistance. Might I say, it isn’t often that a lady of the house is able to endure such a scene as you just witnessed.”  
  
Elain lowered her eyes momentarily, to acknowledge what she supposed was a compliment. “I am not the lady of the house, doctor. However, I am here to receive whatever instruction you would leave.”  
  
The doctor nodded. “Of course.” He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a sheet of paper that he had prepared. “We haven’t been properly introduced, given the circumstances. My name is Hansen. Gregory Hansen.”  
  
“Elain Archeron,” she responded, curtseying quickly.  
  
Hansen’s eyes narrowed. “Archeron. That name is familiar.”  
  
“You may have heard of my father. He had his hand in many business dealings, over the years.”  
  
Hansen murmured. “That must be it.”  
  
Elain widened her eyes, looking him straight on. She had been too ashamed, too folded within herself in the asylum, for him to have gotten a good look at her before. And now, she would not be intimidated by the man who had been too free with his touch while conducting his cursory inspections of the residents of the asylum.   
  
She held up the paper. “I will send someone with questions, if we have any. And I will make sure your fees are paid.”  
  
“I appreciate it, Miss Archeron. If you don’t think it is inappropriate, may I ask why you live here? If you are not Mrs. Vanserra, that is, and you have family in the area who might take you in?”  
  
“You may not ask, Doctor Hansen.”   
  
His satchel shut with a resounding click as he stood to leave. Before parting, he turned to Elain one last time.   
  
“I’m sure that you heard about Mr. Vanserra’s fiancée. It was certainly a tragedy. They were quite in love, and he was ready to throw over the world for her.” Hansen tilted his head. “I suppose you intend to take her place?”  
  
Elain flinched on Lucien’s behalf. “I am aware of that history, Doctor Hansen. But I do not find it appropriate material for idle chatter. Certainly not in the man’s own home, after such an ordeal with his brother.”  
  
“Of course, Miss Archeron. Apologies.” He opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of whatever he was going to say. “Give my regards to Mr. Vanserra, and when his brother wakes, you must ensure that he no longer has access to laudanum. I’ve seen my share of problems, though it is a common medication.”  
  
“You can be assured of that, Doctor Hansen. The butler will see you out.” Elain turned her back to the man, and she went to Azriel’s bedside. Pulling up a chair, she waited to hear the click of the door being shut before she took his hand in her own, and rested her head on his bed.


	13. Azriel heals while Lucien and Elain become much closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain cares for Az, learns more of his past, and then comforts Lucien.

Elain woke the next morning with her head resting on Azriel’s bed. When she raised herself to a sitting position, she found him watching her. She extricated her hand from his and pushed hair away from her face. The cheek that had been pressed against the bedding came away pink and with a crease that would fade in time. Azriel reached up to trace his finger along it.  
  
“Azriel, how are you feeling?” She grasped his hand in her own, pulling it away from her face and placing it by his side.  
  
“Much better, thank you.”  
  
Elain tilted her head. “You are lying. Don’t lie to me, Azriel.” She had spent the night sleeping by his bedside, and though he had woken to find her asleep there, she had not been unconscious the entire time. No, Azriel’s incessant tossing and turning had proved too difficult to overcome, the sweat of his fevered dreams seeping through the sheets until Elain had been forced to change them in the middle of the night.  
  
“I don’t think I could do that, Elain. You would catch me out in a moment.” Azriel paused. “But I am feeling better. Honestly.”  
  
“In what sense?” Elain asked. His body was certainly not healed, and might not be for weeks, if her intuition was correct.  
  
“It’s complicated,” he answered.  
  
“Un-complicate for it for me, then.” Elain sat back in her chair, taking the opportunity to stretch her back. “You know I won’t pry, but I need to know what is going on, if we are to live under the same roof.”  
  
Azriel pushed himself up to a sitting position with obvious effort. His muscles must have been sore from the strain his body had gone through, first having too much of the drug in his system, and then dealing with not having enough. Elain watched his arm twitch, evidence that he was still having difficulties.  
  
She had seen something similar, in the asylum. While the treatments given to patients were supposed to be the newest innovations in medical science, they were not administered with the proper frequency, the staff being overworked and underpaid, often causing the patients more harm than good as their bodies sought the drug they had been given and then denied.  
  
“What has Lucien told you?” Azriel asked.  
  
Good. He knew that Lucien took her into his confidence, which would make it that much easier for them to cut to what she really needed to know.  
  
“He told you were taken in by his father - your father - and then cast out when he understood the full extent of your connection.” Elain went to work, wetting and then wringing out a damp rag with water to cover his brow with. As she busied herself with her tasks, Azriel watched her, and then placed a hand on her arm to still her. His hand was hot, fevered, and she looked at him as he responded.  
  
“Then you know that when Beron forced me to leave, he didn’t merely ask me to go.”  
  
Elain nodded, squeezing the rag out before placing it on his forehead with her other hand.  
  
“His men, a few of his sons among them, took me outside of the house before they went to work. But you see, it was nothing new, not to me.”  
  
Elain’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “But he had taken you in before that, when he knew you were his son, did he not? I’m not sure what you mean, that it was not new to you. Had you been treated so ill before?”  
  
“Indeed. But I didn’t join Beron’s household until I was nearly an adolescent. My father didn’t learn of my existence until I was 10 years old. By that time, I had already experienced treatment at the hands of the men my mother invited over to the house. And they were not only interested in her.”  
  
Elain swallowed, forcing her instincts to keep from prying. What Azriel was suggesting was too much for her to take, to comprehend, even having lived in the place she had. She pulled the wet rag away from his forehead and looked down to the bowl. The water needed to be changed. She thought to call for Mrs. Bates, but Azriel’s hand still rested on her arm.  
  
“So,” Azriel continued, “When Beron took me in, I expected more of the same. I was surprised that it took quite as long as it did, really, for the taunting and the violence to begin.” He reached for her hand and grabbed it, holding it between his own. “But Elain, please don’t pity me. Ever since I left, I have been freer than I ever thought possible. Here with Lucien, and you.”  
  
Elain leaned over him, their eyes meeting in some sort of understanding she wouldn’t comprehend until much later.  
  
“The other evening, when you left the dinner table,” she began, “Do you want us to avoid certain topics around you? I don’t mean to imply that you are unable to hear such things. Only that I realize it might be difficult for you.”  
  
“No,” he answered. He rested back against his pillows, relaxing his body so Elain could continue her work. “Please do not hide your work, not on my account. Sometimes the details I overhear, they become useful later. I’d like to be of use, to you both.”  
  
Elain nodded. “Thank you for sharing, Az.”  
  
“Az?” He nearly laughed in response.  
  
“It seems more fitting, doesn’t it?” Elain answered. “Azriel is so formal, so staid, and I don’t know, it seems to belong…”  
  
“Somewhere else,” he responded. “Somewhere with people who don’t quite know me.”  
  
Elain smiled. “Yes, that’s it. You are Az. My Az. And Lucien’s.” She wrung out the warm cloth before running it down his bare, sweat-soaked arms. “You know that Lucien loves you, do you not? And in more ways than a man loves his brother?” she asked.  
  
“Yes, I do,” Azriel answered. “And I see that same care for you, Elain. We would both do well to accept it, though it may not be in our nature. Or at least, it certainly isn’t in mine.” He sat back on the pillows behind him, closing his eyes before he spoke again.  
  
“I’m not sure why I tell you such things. But Lucien feels that he needs to atone for the death of his fiancée. What he doesn’t realize is that he already has. He was never at fault, not really. And what his father did to me.” Azriel flexed his hands, the scar tissue stretching painfully as Elain watched. “Lucien thinks that he is to blame for all of it. I wondered for a time if that is why he took you from that place.”  
  
Elain sat back, straight in her seat again. She didn’t want to be a charity case, a tool to ensure that someone else felt better about their own sins.  
  
“You don’t understand,” Azriel said, lifting one hand from the bed. “Lucien would do this whether he felt the need to atone or not. It is just that now, he feels that he has some reason to prove his goodness. Rather than being able to show that he was already that way.”  
  
Elain and Az spent the rest of the evening in silence, contemplating how they might fit into one another’s lives.  
  
*****  
  
Late that night, Elain opened the door to Lucien’s bedroom after knocking, but she only gave him a moment to respond and make himself decent. When she entered, he was clearly in the process of de-robing for the night, not already prepared for bed, as she had assumed.  
  
“Elain,” Lucien stuttered, “You shouldn’t be here right now. Not this time of the evening.” He glanced towards his bedroom door as she slid across the wall, gradually making herself more familiar with the room. She eyed the four-poster bed, the fireplace and its dying embers, the small bookshelf that was arranged haphazardly with books she assumed had some need to be kept close. Lucien’s study surely would have done the job, but perhaps these had some sentimental value.  
  
At the end of the room stood a wide wardrobe, and atop a small bureau was a framed daguerreotype of a woman. Jess, she assumed. It was the only sign of Lucien’s former fiancée that the room afforded. Indeed, it was the only sign of the woman that his entire brownstone had afforded.  
  
“I have something to say to you, Lucien.”  
  
“Can it not wait?” Lucien unbuttoned the final button on his undershirt, pulling it from his shoulders to reveal a broad, pale expanse of skin. “In the morning, perhaps, we can speak. About whatever you would like.” He draped the shirt on the back of a chair by his wardrobe, and turned back towards her. His hair was tied by a black ribbon and thrown over one shoulder. His missing eye had become a hollow darkness in the shadows that his fireplace cast.  
  
Elain was still wearing the dress she had left the house in over a day ago. By now, it had become rumpled and creased, and she had undone the top buttons of her blouse without thinking hours ago.  
  
“I need to discuss Azriel with you.” After a moment, she added, “Az. I want to talk to you about him.”  
  
Lucien sat on the edge of his bed and beckoned her nearer. Elain approached and stood between his spread legs. They had been this close before, but never in such intimate circumstances. Never when alone, with Lucien bare-chested and Elain disheveled, exhausted and vulnerable. Or perhaps it was he who was vulnerable; she couldn’t quite make out who had the advantage here.  
  
She reached up and unlaced the ties on her bodice, making a show of allowing herself space to breath.  
  
Lucien reached up to help, pulling the bodice of her dress away and throwing it on the floor. Underneath was a thin cotton shirt, and he stared pointedly at her breasts.  
  
Elain moved her shoulder just so, and the fabric slid down to reveal an expanse of bare flesh.  
  
Lucien placed a kiss on the shoulder that had been revealed. Elain struggled to keep her breathing even. “What about Azriel?” he asked. Lucien traced a fingertip across the curve of her shoulder, along her collarbone, up her throat until he had her lower lip pinched between his fingers. He tugged on it lightly, watching the way it turned a darker pink.  
  
Lucien released her lip, watching it swell slightly.  
  
“I wonder if he is secure in his place here. He wants to be.”  
  
“He doesn’t make attachments,” Lucien answered. “You needn’t concern yourself about him.”  
  
Elain cupped Lucien’s chin and tilted his head until he was looking up at her. “I think you’re wrong. I think he would do anything to keep you.”  
  
“And did you learn that by using your ability?”  
  
Elain shook her head. “No. I just recognize it in him.” She bent down to kiss him, sliding her shift off her other shoulder so that it fell in a puddle on the floor. She felt his breath catch but refused to let him go, her hand clasped on the back of his head as she used her tongue to explore his mouth. Finally, when she felt that he had been sufficiently distracted, she released him.  
  
“And does that need seem familiar?” Lucien asked. He was trembling slightly, keeping his eyes on her face, though she knew that he wanted to look lower, to see the skin that she had revealed.  
  
Elain scoffed. She wasn’t aware she was capable of such a sound. It didn’t match what she felt in the slightest. “Hardly. I think I want you. I want this. But I don’t need to keep you.” She reached down to untie the laces that held her undergarments in place, letting them find the floor as her shirt had. She was naked before him, though close enough that it was impossible for him to take her in all at once.  
  
“I think that Azriel is different,” she continued, as he spread his palms and held her breasts in his hands. She let out an involuntary groan as he pinched her nipples, and Lucien smiled at her. He tangled one hand in her hair, pulling her close as the other rested across her chest, pressing her naked body against his own. Elain ran her own hands along his shoulders, wanting to reach lower but afraid of what she might find. She was afraid she might like it too much, might never be able to come up for air once she found her pleasure in him.  
  
“As long as he agrees to the same,” she said when he pulled his hand away from her breast. Lucien’s hands had begun wandering, gripping her thighs and pulling her down to straddle his lap. “But as long as he agrees to the same,” she continued, “I am willing to make certain… concessions.”  
  
Lucien murmured against her throat as she pressed her hips into his own. Her legs were spread wide across his lap and there was only the thin fabric of his pants between them. Elain pressed her hips into him again, making sure to her cunt rubbed against the bulge in his pants. She moaned in spite of herself, of finding pressure against her center that wasn’t coming from her own fingers.  
  
Lucien groaned and reached down between her legs, using his fingers to spread her folds open to him. He opened one set, then the other, until he could easily slide his finger inside her if he wanted. He was met with wetness, pressing and moving until he could hear the slick sounds of his flesh on hers, and couldn’t resist bringing his hand to his mouth to taste her while she watched.  
  
Realizing that she was watching his actions, Lucien swallowed. “Elain, what are you doing here?”  
  
“Finding comfort,” she said into his neck. “Finding a place to belong.” Her hands reached down to his pants and the untied the laces, pulling him free. “Just for the night, if that’s what you want.”  
  
Lucien grabbed her arms and forced her away from him rudely. “Is that what you want? Is that really your aim?”  
  
Elain let her hands fall to her side. “Yes. Please.” Her lower lip trembled and she reached up to him, slowly. Finally, he let her cup his face in her hands and she kissed him, tasting the ghost of herself on his lips. While she kissed him, full and deep, tasting every inch of him her tongue would reach, Lucien let his hands wander. He grasped her back, sliding down to her rear to press her hips deeper into his own, feeling the length of her thighs and pulling them tight around his waist.  
  
Lucien whispered her name into her own mouth, something like a prayer and a wish and she had never felt so desired in her life. She felt him twitch beneath her and finally, thanks be to whatever god she might believe in, he placed his hands underneath her thighs and lifted her, placing her on the bed beneath him.  
  
He used his tongue to travel paths she had only imagined, when she hadn’t been able to discern from reality and a wish, and when he finally used that sharp tongue to taste her for himself, Elain clamped her hand over her mouth to keep herself from screaming out his name. He flicked his tongue across her folds, sucking her into his mouth and dipping his tongue inside of her before he let his fingers join it. Pressing into her, he looked up, and they watched one another as he fucked her thoroughly with two, then three fingers. His thumb remained on her clit and pressed in a motion that had her reaching an edge that she had only known when her own hands were there, but now - now her hands were reaching up to grasp the edge of his headboard, and she marveled at the pleasure someone else’s body could bring hers.  
  
As she came down, Lucien ensuring to rub her cunt until she had reached the last of her waves of pleasure, she struggled to regain her breath. But he kissed her, took her breath away again as he reached down to remove his own pants. She grabbed for him, but he gathered her wrists into his hands and held them above her head, watching her as he spread her thighs with one hand to settle in-between them.  
  
The first time he thrust into her, she bit her tongue to keep from crying out. There was a soreness, yes, but it was tinged with pleasure she was sure would take over. Lucien began slowly at first, one hand resting between them to rub her clit as he pushed his cock into her again and again. After a time, Elain felt herself give and stretch and the familiar tension build until she knew that someone else could make her come, and come, until there was no difference between his body and her own.  
  
Lucien fucked Elain until her mouth filled with blood from biting her tongue, until she was no longer aware of what day it was or when she would want to emerge from the haze of pleasure he had thrust her into. It was something she had only imagined, her fingers and clenched thighs a mere substitute for what he had to offer. She barely had words for what he had done, for the way that he had made her experience something familiar, yet brand new.  
  
When they were done exploring one another’s bodies, the sun was coming over the horizon, and Elain realized with a start that she hadn’t checked on Azriel. Lucien held her to him, however, reassuring her that someone would take care. That she was in a place in which someone was always there to consider the tasks at hand, rather than leave them to her.


	14. Like You're Someone Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain wakes up in Lucien’s room, and then Nesta and Feyre come for a surprise visit.
> 
> My chapter titles make no sense, I am aware of this, and working to rectify the situation.

Elain woke in the full light of day. She sat up, glancing around the room she found herself in, and the first thought that came to her was of Lucien between Azriel’s thighs, here in this very bed. Of course it looked different now, in daylight, with only her own small, feminine presence to take up the space. Something twined in her core as she remembered, and her heart began to pound at the thought, until another interrupted.  
  
A more recent memory came to her, and Elain remembered that Lucien had been between her legs as well. His tongue and his fingers and his cock, the skin of him pressing her thighs further apart, his hair flashing in the dim light… But he was nowhere to be seen, and she fell back onto the sheets. She stilled, counting as the godfather clock chimed the hour. Eleven in the morning. Hours later than she normally woke, but she had spent the evening doing something she wasn’t in the habit of doing…  
  
Reaching down to her legs, she slipped her fingers between them. She thought that maybe she would be different, that the world might have changed somehow. Everything had changed, but only she and Lucien would know. It was just as well. Elain was used to having secrets, to knowing more than everyone around her, though she didn’t always want to. At least her knowledge now was personal, and not forced upon her by whatever forces were at work in her mind.  
  
A knock came at the door before it opened a crack and Lucien peeked in. “Elain, are you awake?” he whispered.  
  
“Yes, you can come in.” Elain sat up again, pulling the sheet up to cover herself.  
  
He pushed the door open with his hip, carrying a tray of food. Elain put her hand over her mouth, stifling a giggle.  
  
“What?” he asked. “You think I can’t do things like this? I don’t need servants, you know. This is just a rather large house, for a single man.”  
  
Elain raised an eyebrow. “Single?”  
  
“You know what I mean,” he replied, setting the tray down on the nightstand.  
  
“I think you have quite a different idea about living standards than most people, Lucien, if you think that having a loyal group of paid help is merely a question of the size of one’s dwelling.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
Elain cocked her head. “Well, to begin with, when my father lost his fortune, we moved into a home about this size. Only we lost the help that came with it, because we couldn’t afford to pay them anymore. Feyre took it all on herself, though we shouldn’t have let her.” She looked down to her feet, watching them stretch and move beneath the sheets. “And then later, my cell at the asylum was quite spacious, although I could hardly count on anyone’s assistance in keeping it up.”  
  
“I didn’t mean to offend you, Elain.”  
  
“Oh, you didn’t. Don’t worry. I realize that, far as you may feel you have fallen, there are still further depths that not everyone knows exist.” Elain raised her knees and rested her cheek on them.  
  
“I didn’t fall,” he answered. “I jumped. Yet I understand what you mean. It was my choice.” He sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “How are you feeling?” He rested his palm on her feet, and even through the sheets, she tried to keep herself from moving away.  
  
This kind of intimacy, something in it cried out as a lie, though every other instinct in her asked - no, begged - for her to let Lucien in. If only she hadn’t been betrayed by Graysen, and then come to Lucien a small, broken thing. He had no idea the person she had been, before. But perhaps that person wouldn’t have survived a night in that hell he had found her in.  
  
“I am just fine, thank you.” Elain looked down and began to pick at a loose thread on the blanket that covered her.  
  
Lucien straightened. “Well, I’ve brought breakfast. I wasn’t sure when you would wake, or if you’d want to be seen making the journey from my room to your own.”  
  
“Doesn’t Azriel do that, usually?” she asked. “Surely you must have worked out some sort of plan. I suppose everyone here knows, though.” She trailed off, unsure of her point. Perhaps that she was a replacement, a stand-in until his brother was healed and could once again be on his knees for Lucien. But that was ungenerous. Nothing in Lucien had suggested that he might take advantage of those in his care. Yet something in her recoiled, wanting to find Nesta for some kind of reassurance that she wouldn’t be left to the wolves, once again.  
  
Elain straightened, gesturing to the tray Lucien had brought in. “Is that for me, then?”  
  
“Of course. I have already had my meal.” He lifted the tray and brought it closer to her, watching as she began to slather jam and butter on toast, the informality of their setting overriding any sense of propriety that had been bred into her bones.  
  
Elain looked up, embarrassed, a streak of strawberry jam across her cheek, and Lucien reached up to wipe it away.  
  
“I think you were hungrier than you realized,” was his only response.  
  
She nodded and went to work at the tray. Eggs and cured meats and crusty bread were soon demolished. She hadn’t realized that engaging in those sorts of nighttime activities would take so much of her energy. As Elain finished, Lucien stood. He walked around to the foot of the bed, seeming to struggle with a decision.  
  
“When was the last time you ate?” Lucien asked her. “I told Mrs. Bates to look after you, while you were watching over Az.” He grinned. “Yes, he told me about his new name. I like it, although I’m not sure he appreciates what having a nickname implies.”  
  
So Azriel wasn’t so different from her, really. There was something about both of them that was begging to be accepted, while recoiling from the thought. Elain wasn’t sure whether that made them the perfect partners in crime, or the perfect person to lead one another astray.  
  
Lucien cleared his throat and his features lost their lightness.  
  
“What is it?” Elain set her knife and fork down, looking down at the plate for more food. She reached for the jar of jam and sat back against the pillows.  
  
“Nesta and Feyre are coming for tea, dear Elain,” Lucien said.  
  
Elain sat up straighter and stopped scraping her finger in the bottom of the jar. “Blast!”  
  
Lucien laughed. “Is that the best you can do at swearing?”  
  
She looked back at him and glared. “When were you going to inform me of this?” She began licking the remnants of the sticky red strawberries off her fingers, and Lucien’s eyes caught on them. For a moment she suspected he might rip the sheets away from her and start where they had left off, but he blinked and came back to his senses.  
  
He shrugged. “They only sent word this morning. Well,” he added, “I suppose it was rather sudden on their part, but I didn’t dare refuse them. Despite your current predicament.” He grinned, and Elain grabbed a pillow from behind her back to throw at him, which he easily dodged.  
  
“Do you not want to see your sisters?” he asked.  
  
“Of course I do,” Elain answered. “It’s just that I will need to come up with a reason why I’m here, still.”  
  
“You mean to say that my company is not reason enough?” Lucien joked. “Or that there is something wanting in my creaky stairwell and drafty fireplace?”  
  
“I love this house, Lucien, you know that.” She grasped his hand and rested it on her knee. “But this isn’t exactly proper. And especially after last night…” Elain blushed as she trailed off. Here she was, sitting naked in Lucien’s bed in the full light of day, and she was still not sure of how to bring up the fact that they had had sex, let alone what it meant, given his relationship with Azriel.  
  
“Well unless you plan on telling them right away that you and I have had relations, I don’t think that will be an issue. But whatever you decide to say, I will support you on.” Lucien stood and straightened his vest. He was nearly put together for work, and Elain wondered when he had woken, how long she had been alone in the bed. “I will follow your lead.”  
  
“You will be there, with me?” Elain asked.  
  
“They requested it, in fact,” Lucien said, “Nesta said, and I quote, ‘I need to know more about the man to whom I have entrusted the care of my sister, and if I suspect for a moment that something untoward is occurring, I will haul you in front of the justice myself’. So you see, Elain, I had no choice.”  
  
Elain nodded. “Nesta has that effect on people. Well, I suppose I should prepare myself.” She began to stand up from the bed, grabbing the robe that Lucien offered her, but hesitated.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Can you bring me some more bacon first?”  
  
*****  
  
Elain sat by the fireplace, pulling her watch from her bodice to glance at it before replacing it. She was checking the time every few minutes, and if she didn’t find a way to stop, she might drive herself right back into the hole Lucien had found her in.  
  
The steady _tick tock_ of Lucien’s grandfather clock grounded Elain in the silence that enveloped her. It wasn’t that she was nervous to see Nesta. No - she was nervous for Nesta to see _her_ , and what changes had been wrought in her, these past months. No, this past year and a half. Elain was afraid that she was only a shadow of her former self, that Nesta and Feyre would be disappointed in her. Nesta’s care for her was nearly a weakness, and one that Elain never wanted to exploit, even unwittingly.  
  
When the doorbell rang, Elain’s heart began to race. She would have stopped herself from jumping up and opening the door herself, but - she hadn’t seen her sisters in weeks. Brushing past the butler, Elain reached for the doorknob.  
  
A blast of cold air and bright light hit her, and Feyre’s gentle laugh surprised her. Rushing through the doorway, Elain pulled Nesta into her arms, then turned and buried her face in Feyre’s neck. She breathed in deep, the cool, crisp smells of winter having permeated Feyre’s wool coat.  
  
Feyre laughed and squeezed Elain’s waist. “Are you going to invite us in, or should we take our tea outdoors?”  
  
“It would suit you, dearest,” Nesta said as she breezed through the doorway, “But I have to say I don’t think we’d last long in this cold.”  
  
Grasping Feyre’s hand, Elain led her inside and gestured to the sitting room where Lucien waited. Azriel was too ill to join them, for which Elain was somewhat grateful. She was sure her sisters had plenty of questions already, even without Beron’s disgraced former ward being in the room.  
  
Lucien stood and bowed slightly, welcoming Nesta and Feyre to his home. Elain nearly indicated which seats they might take, until she realized how inappropriate that might be. This wasn’t her home, not really. Dr. Hansen’s words came back to her - did she want to be the lady of this house? But she brushed them away.  
  
Lucien took over, asking Nesta and Feyre to take the seats nearest the fireplace. Suddenly, here, with Nesta and Feyre and Lucien, Elain was sure that all of them would know what she had done the previous night. For all her own gifts, Nesta was far too observant, and Elain was afraid that what she and Lucien had done would be written across her face.  
  
Elain walked to her seat once they were all settled. She was so sure that Nesta and Feyre would know she’d had sex that her attempt at acting natural was anything but, and she walked stiffly, as if she had spent the evening sleeping on the floor.  
  
Nesta raised an eyebrow, but let it pass.  
  
They talked of the weather, briefly - hasn’t it been unseasonably cold, why yes quite, I do wonder when spring will come, and things of that sort. Elain asked Feyre about Rhysand and their wedding, but given her own status at the time of the ceremony, an uncomfortable silence came over them. The conversation dwindled until the only sound in the room was the crackling fire and the scrape of silverware on china.  
  
The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed four o’clock, and everyone in the room but Elain started in their seats.  
  
“Elain,” Nesta began. All eyes shifted to her, at the change in her tone. “Do you know what people say about the two of you?”  
  
Nesta narrowed her eyes, watching the look that was exchanged between Elain and Lucien.  
  
“I assume that you do, Nesta, and you would like to tell me.”  
  
“They say that Mr. Vanserra here has taken you in to be his pet. And that is one of the kinder versions of the story.”  
  
Lucien spoke up. “Well first, Nesta, if you are going to be in my home and discuss my personal life in such a way, you might as well refer to me as Lucien. If you’re going to be familiar enough to discuss what occurs in my bedroom, that is.”  
  
“Mr. Vanserra is just fine,” Nesta responded, and she looked back to Elain. “Elain, I want you to consider what this looks like. I know that Graysen left you in a state, and I will do everything in my power to make sure he gets what he deserves, but Elain, dearest, do you plan to live the rest of your life like this? A spinster, living with two old bachelors?” Nesta glanced back over to Lucien. “Yes, I know about Azriel. He has quite an interesting reputation as well.”  
  
Elain set down her tea cup. “Nesta, I am 22 years old. I am hardly a spinster. And the people who believed I was off taking a tour of the continent, rather than acknowledge that I was rotting in a hellhole so near their own homes, are hardly bright enough to discern the true nature of my relationship with Lucien.”  
  
“Relationship?”  
  
Elain colored. If only the control of her own mind could extend to the rest of her body.  
  
Nesta stood, and Lucien jumped up. Elain followed suit, setting her napkin and cup on the table nearby. Nesta grabbed Elain’s arm and pulled her out into the hallway.  
  
“What are you doing, Nesta?” Elain asked. She pulled her elbow away and reached up to hold Nesta’s shoulder in return.  
  
“Elain, please. Please don’t confirm what I suspect.”  
  
“What do you suspect, Nesta?” The color continued in Elain’s cheeks, despite her efforts at keeping her voice calm, her hands from trembling.  
  
“I think that you and Lucien are much closer than you ought to be. And that you have done something you can never take back.”  
  
“The worst that you think, Nesta?” Elain began, “It’s true.”  
  
Nesta began to turn the same shade as Elain, only from anger.  
  
Gripping her shoulder tighter, Elain continued. “But not in the sense you think. He has never hurt me. All he has ever shown me is kindness. And so I hope you can understand. He and Azriel-“  
  
Nesta scoffed. “Azriel too, then?”  
  
Elain shook her head. “No. He is a friend to me, and since he would do anything for Lucien, he would do anything for me. But I have questions, Nesta. Questions about my past. Our past, in fact. And I don’t think I have any other way to answer them, if I leave. Lucien can help me, you see. He thought he took me from that place so that I could help him, but it’s not true.”  
  
Elain grasped Nesta’s hands between her own and drew her in close, whispering frantically. “I saw him coming, you see. I knew he would be there. I waited on the ground, in the cold and the dark, I made myself small and pathetic. I only needed him to want to help me.” Her words came out in a rush, one on top of the other, as she confided in Nesta something she had been unable to tell anyone these last months. Her being here, with Lucien, was so much more than even Lucien understood.  
  
“Do you not think I could help you?” Nesta asked. “I might remember something you don’t. It’s about mother, isn’t it? Or the reason why you were locked away?”  
  
Elain paused, searching for what she could say. To her surprise, the sound of laughter came from the room where they had left Feyre and Lucien. Nesta looked to the doorway, wondering that the two of them were apparently getting along nicely, despite present circumstances.  
  
When the butler brushed by with a white envelope on a silver tray, Elain’s head turned to follow it. The scent of tragedy emanated from it, along with a slight hint of bitterness and flowers. She held a hand up when Nesta began to speak again. Straining to hear, she realized that she needn’t bother. The low voices in the sitting room were approaching, and Elain turned to call Mrs. Bates for her wool coat.  
  
Lucien stepped out into the foyer. Their eyes met in immediate, mutual understanding. “I hate to interrupt, Elain, but there has been another murder.” He held his hand out, waiting for her to take it.  
  
Elain glanced at Nesta, and then down at the floor. No matter what she had been through, how strong she had become, she realized that she was still no match for her eldest sister. “I apologize, Nesta, but I must leave. I would like to see you again, soon. Just leave word with Mrs. Bates.”  
  
Elain wrapped her coat around her shoulders and took the umbrella that the butler handed her as she left. “I will be alright, Nesta. Please, trust me.” She turned and closed the door behind herself, Nesta’s eyes watching her and softening as she left.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain and Lucien investigate another murder. Afterwards, he probes into her past at the asylum, finding a truth he didn't want to face.
> 
> TW sexual assault mention this chapter

The rattling of the hansom shook Elain from her reverie. Lucien had been saying something to her, but she was sure what they had been discussing. Looking up at him, she blinked. “What was that?”  
  
Lucien frowned. “The body, Elain. It was found in much the same circumstances as Charles. Mr. Van der Lyden was murdered by someone close to him, and I am assuming the same assailant here. Someone who was close, though not too close. Perhaps someone who had recently made themselves intimate with the family. An outsider who wanted to be inside. But I want you to work on a different set of principles.”  
  
“What do you mean, a different set of principles?” Elain had no idea how long they had been traveling, or even where they were going. Death approached; how it came to her or the life she might lead afterward was little matter. It was her purpose, after all, to make herself useful. She wouldn’t question the shapes that chose to extricate themselves from the shadows and come to her.  
  
Lucien’s eyes narrowed before his features softened. “Do you need to return home? If this is too much, please tell me.” He placed a hand on her knee, the privacy of their carriage allowing them the intimacy. In the cover of dark, behind the closed door of his bedroom or hers, these were the places in which they might make their true relationship known. Elain might compare it to the same relationship that he shared with Azriel, his brother. That love might be so hidden, for fear of derision or worse, made her choke.   
  
Elain gripped Lucien’s fingers in her own. “Indeed not. I apologize if I seem distant.”  
  
Lucien nodded, leaving her to her feeble excuses. Already, she knew that he knew more than he said. “What I meant,” he continued, “Is that I would prefer that you approach this in an open state of mind. Do not allow my suppositions to color your own ideas. We are a team, you and I, but it would be best if we develop solutions independently of one another.”  
  
“Yes.” Elain pulled Lucien’s arm in closer to her chest. “Independently. Of course.” She rested her head on his shoulder, wishing that the ride would last until dawn, that she never had to leave the comfort of this small, enclosed space. If it were one of the only places in which she might draw him in close, place her lips on him in affection, then so be it.   
  
Snatching pieces of happiness was nothing new to Elain, after having lived where she had.  
  
The carriage came to a halt none too gently, throwing Elain forward and dislodging her from the warmth of being pressed against Lucien. They smiled politely at one another before he exited and then turned, taking her hand as she stepped down.   
  
Another grand home, housing a family that, despite the newness of this country, managed to take root in the community as if it had stood for a thousand years. Elain could have gone into the mansion blind and still reported what would be found inside, without benefit of her powers; there would be a widow, dressed in pale silks and Chantilly lace, a butler who would blend into the background as if he existed only when needed, dim lighting that did nothing to hide the time and effort spent in creating the sense that this family, and its good reputation, had been and would forever be.   
  
Elain sighed.  
  
They were greeted at the door by another lieutenant, someone Elain was sure she had met at during one of her days investigating with Lucien. A soft, familiar babbling came from just inside the doorway, and she smiled to herself.  
  
Nathanial pushed his way towards them, chattering. “Mr. Vanserra, Miss Archeron, please excuse me, I have been telling these men-“ he shot a withering glance and the officers who stood before him, who looked more amused than anything else, though Elain was sure he had meant to make another impression entirely “-I have been telling them that you would want nothing disturbed. And Miss Archeron, please allow me take your coat.” He pushed his way through, holding out his arms. Elain turned her back to him, sliding the wool from her shoulders enough so that he might catch it.   
  
“Thank you, Mr. Black. And please, call me Elain. May we proceed?” Elain heard Lucien chuckle softly behind her, though she doubted anyone else had caught it. Mr. Black might have been over-eager, but he had his uses. Elain realized that was why Lucien allowed him to stay, despite his constant babble. There must have been something else beneath Mr. Black’s instinct to jump in where he could be of assistance. Perhaps he had a keenness of intellect that his constant stream of words managed to obfuscate.   
  
Elain looked to Lucien after his small laugh, and their eyes met in understanding. Yes, there was a reason that Mr. Black had risen in the ranks, despite everyone else’s skepticism. She and Lucien had been there a moment, and somehow were in league together, communication taking place without even the benefit of shared glances.   
  
“Of course, please, allow me to show you to the scene.” Nathanial bowed quickly, with none of the grace that Lucien or Azriel might have shown. Elain appreciated his effort nonetheless. She lifted her hand into the air, waiting for Lucien’s arm to support and guide it. She kept her eyes forward, taking in the room. It was, of course, as she knew it would appear. Tasteful, intentional but effortless, nothing but the finest imported from a honeymoon abroad and the guidance of older, more worldly relatives. If an original thought had come into the mind of either the bride or groom regarding how to comport themselves before, during, or after the marriage, Elain would have been most surprised.  
  
Mr. Black began explaining the situation - the newly-minted widow had discovered her husband on the floor of his study after their evening meal. They had taken it later than usual, due to his discomfort, which she had spared no breath or verbiage in describing to the first officers who had arrived at the scene. The symptoms were not quite the same as Mr. Van der Lyden’s, but Elain didn’t question Lucien’s suspicion that the cases were connected.   
  
Elain flexed her fingers as they drew near the body, stretching them out at length before curling them back into her palm. If she could concentrate her impressions in these extremities, she might be able to keep herself from feeling overcome.   
   
Lucien turned his palm to grip Elain’s hand as they approached the study, but she pulled herself away. Fully consumed by the sight before her, she had to keep from dropping to her knees. The man was in his evening dress, the collar of his shirt seeming to strangle him. It and the rigidity of his life might have done him in, had the murderess not found him first.   
  
Elain forced herself to turn away, to ask for a glass of water to clear the room. She would take in the details of the room before looking back at the deceased. A fire had been lit, undoubtedly by a servant who had prepared the room for him to return to after the meal. It was of no consequence. A bitter stench came to her, a floral impression and greed accompanying it. If only she could attribute these hints to someone in particular, she might be able to move forward with her true goal.   
  
She and Lucien made a sweep of the room, glancing at one another wordlessly. He would place a hand on an object and she would nod, or shake her head, to indicate its import. Elain knew that he was testing her as well, that he was choosing items at random that he knew had no bearing on what had happened. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, that after these months, after having her in his bed, he still might harbor some suspicion. She wouldn’t hold it against him.   
  
Time passed. Elain was unsure of how much, until she heard someone calling her name. Elain came to on her knees, palms pressed against the floor. Blinking, she looked up at Lucien. He had been calling her name, his hand on her back. She looked back down at the victim’s shoes. He was still sprawled in his chair, full stomach protruding from his trousers and pomade causing his hair to shine in the light of the fire.   
  
He wouldn’t be that way much longer, Elain thought. Soon he would rot with the rest of them, respectable family name or no.   
  
“Are you ready to leave?” Lucien spoke gently, keeping his voice from the officers who now stood at the door. They pretended to have a discussion amongst themselves, but took turns looking over at her and then reporting on what they saw. Let them see. If the real curiosity in the room was not a man who had been murdered but a woman who had seen even darker still, let them stare.   
   
Elain nodded and grasped his hand to raise to her feet.   
  
“We will talk on the way home,” Lucien said, taking her elbow.   
  
Nathanial met them at the entrance to the home, Elain’s coat in hand. “Thank you for your assistance tonight, Mr. Black,” she said.   
  
“Nathanial, please. If I am to call you Elain, surely you should call me Nathanial.” He smiled at her broadly.  
  
“Nathanial, then. Thank you.” Elain turned towards him and buttoned her coat. She lowered her head just enough to show gratitude, and then placed her hands in her fur muff. “We should have you for dinner, one of these evenings. I’m sure Lucien wouldn’t mind.”  
  
“And your brother, Mr. Vanserra? I wouldn’t wish to intrude.” Nathanial looked back and forth between them, hesitant. So, he knew. Elain’s respect for the man grew tenfold, and she removed a hand from her muff to place on his arm.   
  
“It would be no intrusion, Nathanial.” He beamed at her. “I will send someone with the details.”   
  
Lucien placed a hand at her back, guiding her to the door.   
  
In the carriage, Elain allowed herself to slump back onto the seat as much as her corset would allow.  
  
“Was that necessary?” Lucien asked as soon as the door was shut.  
  
“Yes. I know you keep him on for a reason, but he may become even more useful than you realize.” Elain pulled her hands from the fur to grasp his hand in her own.   
  
“Alright. But I blame you if his bloody rambling causes Azriel to leave us both.”  
  
She smiled. “Don’t worry, Azriel will be just fine. I do have some questions for you, however.”  
  
“Down to business, then?” Lucien brought Elain’s hand to his lips, pressing them to her knuckles one at a time. Her breath quickened.  
  
“What did you suspect?” Elain watched Lucien closely. She felt confident now, in her ability to discern between his expressions. It was, of course, a skill she had honed long ago, in parlors and drawing rooms in which marriages were planned. Disuse had made her a poor master, but having seen Lucien on his knees with Azriel and then naked over her made her a quicker study than usual.   
  
“I wondered why the symptoms were different. Poison, yes, yet not the same type. It is merely conjecture, you see, but a murderer tends to keep to the same method. Strangulation, poison, blunt trauma.” Lucien looked up to watch Elain’s expression, but she remained as calm as if he were talking of the weather. He pulled her other hand to his lips, watching her reactions before continuing. “In this case, poison. Everything is the same, save for the symptoms of the victim. And so for a moment I wondered if we might be looking for two perpetrators.”  
  
“But only for a moment,” Elain echoed.   
  
“Yes,” he confirmed. “I am certain we are dealing with the same murderess.” Lucien let the word hang there between them, its accusatory nature bound to neither of them, and yet a condemnation all the same.   
  
“Yes,” she answered, “I agree. There is something cold there. More so than usual, that is. Calculation and planning. This woman knows these families intimately, even before she crosses their thresholds.”   
  
“She knows them as well as someone who grew up in their milieu, then?” Lucien asked. “Not someone who wants to break in, but someone who has been there before?”  
  
“Precisely. No one else fully understands the depravity these monied families are capable of. A word from them and your credit, your honor, your entire life and reputation are stained blacker than pitch.” Elain rubbed her forehead with her free hand and looked to watch the street pass, just for a moment. If only she weren’t so familiar herself with the power a few words from the wrong person could have on the trajectory of one’s life.  
  
When they returned home, Lucien helped Elain out of her coat and she waited as he placed them in the closet. Before she could bid him good night, Lucien touched Elain’s elbow gently, holding her back from returning to her room, alone. “May I join you?” he asked, looking up the staircase. “To discuss something with you?”  
  
Elain raised an eyebrow. “But what shall the servants say?”   
  
Lucien smiled. “If they haven’t been thoroughly scandalized by now, I haven’t been trying properly, have I?”  
  
Lifting her arm slightly, Elain waited for Lucien to take it and guide her up the stairs. They entered her room and she lit a small lamp, closing the door behind him, before either of them spoke. Something about returning at this time of night, by cover of dark, seemed to require an extra layer of care. They had created their own world here, and they were both of them afraid to shatter the illusion that they were the only ones existing in it.   
  
“Elain,” Lucien began gently. “Can you tell me about before?”  
  
She looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Before what?” She sat on the edge of her bed, pulling away the handkerchief at her throat, then slowly unbuttoning her bodice enough so she could breath.  
  
“Before I found you. When you were taken into the asylum,” he responded, not guessing for a moment that she knew exactly to what he might be referring. “I only ask because I wouldn’t wish to expose you to a situation in which you may feel uncomfortable.”  
  
Elain smoothed her skirts over her lap. “Well, Lucien. There is certainly a before and an after. Though I wonder how much you would like to know about before? I am sure you have seen the worst sorts of crime, though it is quite a different thing, personally knowing someone who has experienced them.”  
  
Lucien frowned. “I have known my share of victims. Personally. Intimately.”  
  
Elain’s mind went to the room at the end of the hallway, where a distinctly feminine presence waited to be released. Yes, he was haunted.  
  
“I’m sure you have. But you have taken from me what I have willingly given, while others were not so kind. And it is different to hear of that sort of violation from someone who lives in your own home.”  
  
Lucien flinched and his fists closed. He sat in the small chair by the fire that she normally read in. “You mean more to me than that, Elain. You are not a mere guest. And I would find my hands around the neck of anyone who so much as considered such things against you.”  
  
“It is difficult saying though, what a person is worth? If they are worth the effort of saving. How can you quantify how much I must mean to you, in order for you to keep me from the fate that I have already experienced?”  
  
“But you, Elain, you are worth every bit of effort, every moment. Nesta, she knew. Feyre as well, and others, I am sure. Even if they didn’t know at the time, I know now, and Azriel. Even Nathanial.” Lucien tried to grin. “None of us would say that you are not worth the effort.”  
  
“And had my father been present, had I a brother, would I have been worth saving? Would I have been spared the fate of those months?” Elain’s own screams came back to her, the memory of her hair loose, a free and unwelcome hand traveling up her bare thigh underneath her cotton shift as she struggled against the straps that held her arms to the wooden chair.   
  
She swallowed the gag that threatened to escape her throat.   
  
Lucien looked down. “I am sorry that it came to that. I would have stopped it, were it in my power.”  
  
“I am sure you would have. But you asked me to tell you. And so I shall.” Elain began to detail the first weeks there, the way her clothing was taken from her, the lines she stood in to receive her daily helping of porridge, the days when it might have been stolen from her by a larger, more intimidating inmate. Her hair had been shorn to prevent lice, and when she insisted on screaming for justice, she was locked away in isolation.   
  
After the first month, she thought she had lost her voice. She had neither the energy nor the will to protest, and weeks later she began to wonder if she had dreamt her life from before. Eventually, she became so docile that the small, cold cell Lucien found her in was assigned to her, under the assumption that she was no longer of harm to herself or anyone else.   
  
No, she was of no harm. Elain had become a small, quiet mouse, ignoring the stench of sickness that came from her first doctor, and unable to feign shock when he passed. She doubted that he would have taken her seriously, in any case. She would have just as likely found herself strapped back in that chair, with wandering hands and forced to watch as the guards pleasured themselves in front of her.   
  
Elain watched Lucien’s face as she recounted these details. His expression remained neutral, though the twitch of a muscle in his jaw told her when she had broken through. Good. If she could do this, she might accomplish her final task.   
  
At the end of her tale, Elain stood and finished unbuttoning her bodice. “Would you stay with me tonight?” Her voice came out small, insignificant. “If I am not keeping you from Azriel?”  
  
Lucien stood and took her hands between his own. “Anything you ask, I will do.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain and Lucien realize that they both lost something in the fire that occurred ten years ago. Elain decides to act on her mission to find out who is responsible.

In the night, someone called to Elain from the room down the hall. She had not had the time to venture back there since that evening when a presence first made itself known, and now she felt a tug in her core that she knew led there, and to the past. Steeling herself, she rose from her bed. She wrapped a delicate shawl over her shoulders and headed out of the room with determination. With a glance over her shoulder to make sure that Lucien was still asleep, she followed the voice.

Often, Elain was able to ignore these calls. Had she not discovered a way to push them to the back of her mind, she might have deserved to live out the rest of her life in the asylum. After all, it had been over ten years of hearing the voices of the past, the present, and the future all calling out to her to do their bidding. But tonight, she welcomed it. Though she would never pry more from Lucien than he wanted to share, there were parts of their past that might intersect, clues in his story that might help her to better understand her own.

Walking on the tips of her toes, avoiding the floorboards that she knew would creak and betray her, Elain held onto the wall as she made her way down the hall to the final room at the end. This was where she had sensed the feminine presence before, though she’d had no answers. She hadn’t been ready, before. But understanding Lucien, and Azriel, it had to go hand in hand with understanding whatever that room represented.

Elain reached the end of the hall and placed her hand on the doorknob, refusing to pull away at the uncomfortable coolness of the metal. A whisper came again, her name, and that of stranger. Closing her eyes, she pushed at the door, only to find that it was already slightly ajar. The room was closed away for repair, and yet it beckoned her. Lucien had insisted that she not enter it because of fire damage, but in the months since, she had not once seen repairmen come to the home. Of course she had never insisted - why should she, when he was already providing her with everything she needed - but she hadn’t left that detail unremarked.

Elain took one step forward, eyes remaining shut. She reached out into the air before her, hoping to find more truth in that sense than her eyes might provide. There was someone here, to be sure. It was a feminine presence. There was pain, and Elain tried to separate her own past from that of the crying woman, until she realized that they were linked. It was not only her own memory that crowded her mind, but someone else’s.

She should have expected this. The city had seen so many more ghosts since the fire, she should have known that her own past wasn’t the only one haunted by those flames.

A breeze came from over her shoulder, gently pushing her further into the room. She had missed something before, something she needed to find now. Elain began on her left, taking in the four-poster bed. Its linens were pastel, a flowered quilt resting folded at the foot. She approached the bed slowly, grasping one of the wooden posts for stability.

Elain turned her head from the clean bedding to the trunk at the foot of the bed. Falling to her knees, she ran her hands over the carved wood. There was hope here, an assumption of a future that meant making a home of this place. Although it clearly had not come to pass - one needn’t have her senses to see the hollowness of a room that had lost its mistress - there was no sadness. Instead, Elain sensed was contentment, happiness. It didn’t fit with the reason she would be drawn here. But when she felt another, more solid presence behind her, she understood.

Brushing her nightgown of dust, she stood and turned. Lucien was in the doorway, propping himself up on either side of the frame with both hands. His eyes searched the room as if looking for something - or someone - that was missing from the scene. Elain had never seen Lucien stripped so bare, his expression lacking any fear that she might finally, truly understand what haunted him. The truth she would find here wasn’t about the woman who had once called this home, but in what that woman meant to him.

A light went out of Lucien’s expression when he saw the starkness of the room. Even without benefit of her perception, Elain knew that he, too, felt the hollowness of what used to be a home. When his eyes finally met hers, his expression became more composed. “Elain, what are you doing out of bed?”

“I was called here. By her.” Elain sat on the edge of the bed, pushing every boundary she knew existed between them. That she would take this place, in this room, was a challenge to the walls that remained between her and Lucien. “Will you tell me what happened?”

Lucien strode into the room, attempting to convey confidence, though he had to clear his throat and pause before he had reached its center. “Do you not know? Can you not feel it?”

Elain nodded, smoothing the quilt at her side. “I can feel, but that doesn’t mean I understand.”

“The fire took something from all of us, Elain.” Lucien gestured to his face, the scarred eye that she had never asked about. “Remember, this was my payment for trying to save the woman who lived in this room.” Lucien slumped onto the bench at the vanity, running his finger over the surface she must have sat at every morning. His finger came away clean.

The pieces fell into place, then. Lucien took in lost souls, and found himself losing even more in the process. 

“This was where she lived,” Elain said.

“Indeed. My fiancée.” Lucien paused, his tone torn between the bitterness of loss and the reverence that she was owed. When he spoke again, it was with honesty.

“My father was opposed to the match, and she had nowhere else to go. You see, that was one of the reasons for his opposition. She came from a non-existent family. She couldn’t claim lineage. She had been left nothing by her family, but was raised without the skill to earn her own way. Unless one can make a living from the sort of education your type receives? What is it, painting landscapes, playing pretty songs on the piano, choosing the appropriate dishes for guests?”

Elain ignored the implied slight. “And so you offered her shelter?”

Lucien folded his hands in his lap. “Yes. Shelter, and a family, and a place where she might be valued, if not respected by society at large.”

Elain stood and went to Lucien, resting her hand on his shoulder. “Always trying to aid those who are beyond it,” she murmured.

Lucien brushed off the insinuation that she might be included in those beyond help, and continued. “There is more value than in a name, or a bank account. But it didn’t matter, because that fire came for all of us.”

Elain nodded, and returned to the bed, wrapping her fingers around a post and leaning her head against it. “Even those who didn’t lose someone, lost something.”

Lucien turned to watch her. “What happened to you, then?”

It was so long ago, and yet Elain could recall each moment as if it had just happened.

“It was ten years ago,” Elain murmured. She glanced down and grabbed a fistful of her shift, crumpling it. She had grown out of the habit years before, and the memory of her mother gently placing her hands in her lap - it was much more ladylike, though Elain protested that she was not yet a lady -  caused her to sigh before she continued.

“I was 12 years old, Nesta just 14, and Feyre 10. We were woken in the middle of the night. Father’s clerk came to the house, came to get father, and in the chaos my sisters and I followed him, unnoticed, and listened to conversations we might not have been privy to otherwise. Mother was already gone, taken by illness.” Silence answered her, so she continued. “We weren’t in any danger. At least, not in any physical danger. But it doesn’t take that to ruin a family. Father had invested nearly all of our fortune and it was on the verge of being lost.”

Understanding came into Lucien’s expression, as Elain watched him silently recall the toll that the fire had on the city. While it seemed coarse to consider, more than lives were lost that night. Buildings were destroyed, and along with them, people’s residences and livelihoods. Including that of the Archerons.

“My father’s business was real estate, you know. He had invested in a new development. The one where the fire began, in fact.”

“And he lost everything.”

Elain nodded. “And with that choice of investment, our family lost more than that. Everyone was quite sympathetic, of course. I know that he had hoped my marriage to Graysen might restore some of the family’s reputation. Or bank accounts. I suppose they are nearly the same thing. But of course that was not to be. And the person who convinced him to invest such a large portion of his fortune… she was the same person who also ensured that Beron became suspicious of my suggestions…” Her voice trailed off, unwilling or unable to speak the name.

“Amarantha?” Lucien managed to say.

“Yes.”

“I see.” Lucien turned back towards the vanity and picked up a hair brush. Golden strands were still stuck in its tines, and he picked at them absently, watching them fall to the floor as he pried them loose. “What would you do to her, if you could?”

“What are you really asking me, Lucien?” He may have treated her like a delicate object, prone to breaking at any moment, but Elain saw his recognition of her potential. She may have lain on that cold, hard floor when he came to find her, but that was never where she would find her end, and they both knew it.

“I think you know, Elain.” He looked up at her. “Why did you come with me, when I came to take you from the asylum?”

Elain paused. Surely he couldn’t know how much of her was an act, what her true goal was, even if he was aware of her survival instinct. Carefully, including enough of the truth to obscure the lie, she began. “I knew that you would protect me. I could see it in your face. I knew that you were in pain, and that I could perhaps count on your sympathy to indulge me.” Lucien flinched. “I also knew that I could never find the truth in that place.”

The fact that she might have used his trust to steal files while they were conducting their investigation into The Widow was not going to be a part of her declaration, but she hoped that she had been honest enough - hard enough - that he wouldn’t ask her to go further. Nothing was as important as finding the truth about what had happened to her family that night. No matter how close she had become to him, Azriel, or even Mrs. Bates, she had decided long ago to not lose sight of her goal.

Lucien stood from the bench and extended his hand out to her. “Let’s get you back to bed. And I promise, Elain, that I will continue to help you. I didn’t trust you, in the beginning, but I think that now I might be able to. If you can trust me enough to tell me the truth.”

Elain rested her hand in his, standing. “Honesty, then.” A contended, feminine sigh followed them out of the room, though Lucien made no sign of having heard it. Though she doubted his fiancée was quite done with her, Elain closed the door behind them, assured that for the time being, she was at peace.

*****

Days later, Elain woke with renewed determination. What she had come here to do, she could accomplish on her own. Even as she extricated her limbs from Lucien’s, she felt a pang to think that he may feel betrayed, in some way, that she hadn’t trusted him with this mission. Lucien had provided her with freedom, with a reason to avoid the supervisory eyes of her sisters, but the rest was up to her.

The bits of her past that she allowed herself to remember were rarely happy. When he took her from the asylum, Lucien explained the progress that the city had made while she had been locked away. The idea that the world might have continued to move while she was left to rot should not have been a surprise, but it had caused a bitterness in her so sharp she felt the need to search for an instrument to carve it out.

No, the events leading up to the arrest were of a nature that in polite society, she was sure that everyone who knew where she had really been insisted on referring to it as her “confinement”, after the “unfortunate circumstances” required immediate intervention.

Elain dressed without disturbing Lucien, choosing a simpler dress that wouldn’t mean assistance was needed from Mrs. Bates. The fewer people who knew where she was headed, the better.

Once on the street, Elain ordered a hansom and made her way to the neighborhood where she had grown. This was the place where her life had changed; familiarity no longer brought comfort as it once had, and Elain remained on her guard.

The buildings became older, more run-down as she grew closer; the trees may have grown taller, the spaces between the homes filled in, but she had thought she would be reassured in some way. Before, this place had seemed new and full of promise. Now, the homes showed a lack of attention, and even in the full light of day that hope had been replaced by lethargy. Her father would have been pained to see it in this state.

Lucien may have been able to provide her with answers here, but what she needed to know couldn’t be found in a desk, locked away in some criminal case file. He hadn’t noticed the slips of folded papers that she slid into her handbag, gone into her armoire to see that she’d purchased a lockbox. As much as he told her she needed to work to earn his trust, she knew that he already had allowed her far more freedom than their initial meeting would have implied.

Stepping from the hansom, Elain took in the burnt out façade of the building she had once called home. The scent of wood and refuse and abandonment made the scene new, in a way that caused her heart to beat anxiously in her chest. What had once been a warm, welcoming home was now a frigid, forbidding space. Instead of her mother calling her indoors, her sisters laughing in the yard, Elain was met with silence.

“Miss, are you sure you want me to leave you here?” The driver took in the street with narrowed, distrustful eyes.

“Yes.” Elain adjusted her coat, unfastening the top button to let in fresh air.

“I can wait for you, if you’d like. I would hate to leave you here unaccompanied.”

“I’ll find my way back, thank you.” Turning away from him in dismissal, Elain approached the gate. Making her way up the path, she heard him mumbling - _as you like, Miss -_ she wondered if she shouldn’t have taken his offer to stay and wait for her to exit. However, Elain wasn’t sure how long she would need, and solitude would surely be more conducive to truth-finding, in this case.

The ornate iron gate to the yard creaked with disuse and a lack of care. Their father had insisted that they live near their investment, to show that it was a place others of similar fortune and standing would be comfortable in. Now, no one would look twice at the place, except as a reason to reassure themselves why they should not enter it. Elain could imagine, in another world, Feyre telling her ghost stories about the house while Nesta chided her for frightening her older sister. It didn’t seem the sort of place where a family had once lived, and happily.

Leaves and debris cluttered the walkway, and Elain lifted her skirts to keep it from gathering under them as she walked. She pushed the front door open, knowing that nothing would greet her but silence and absence. Forcing herself forward, she looked for the source of the fire.

Elain’s mother had once graced these halls, made them a home. Feyre and Nesta had bunched their skirts in their fists in order to chase one another around, the protests of their mother unheeded. Elain could feel the echo of happier times resonate through the halls, but she pushed past them, towards the origin of the fire that had changed their lives.

She had told Lucien that this was merely an investment, that they had lost their fortune and place in society with it, but that wasn’t quite true. The hallways had begun to seem hollow after their mother died, only to become scorched and their lives unsalvageable. Gripping the railing to the second story, Elain headed towards her parents’ room. They had been woken that night because of their father’s investment in the neighborhood, but his insistence on living there as an example had also cost them this home. Elain tested each step carefully before placing her entire weight on them. There was, after all, a reason why they hadn’t bothered rebuilding. The structure had been deemed unfit for any to live in, and the number of buildings and families that needed tending to afterward meant that it wasn’t high on anyone’s list of priorities to demolish the potentially dangerous building.

Elain found her way to the landing, and turned. Dust floated through the air, illuminated by the slits of light that came in through a broken window. The fire had come from the west side of the house, where her parents’ room had been, and she stepped slowly towards it, still careful of her footing.

The door to their room was still intact, though one of the hinges had broken at the top, leaving it askew. Elain pressed her hand against the other side and stepped inside.

Unlike in Lucien’s house, there was no other presence here. No ghosts deigned to wait around here, where there was nothing left for even them. Elain gathered her skirts and kneeled in the middle of the room. To her left was the fireplace, where she had curled in her mother’s lap, falling asleep as she ran her fingers through her hair. Feyre would sit across from them, reading from a book, while Nesta sat by the hearth quietly. Their father would be busy with work most evenings, but Elain cherished this memory all the same.

Before her was a window facing the park across the street. One of the demands their mother had made was to have that space where the girls might enjoy the outdoors, despite living in a city. Elain pushed away those memories; she wouldn’t find what she needed there.

Finally, to her right, she saw the armoire that had been against the wall nearest the fire. Nothing remained of it now, and Elain slid her palms across the floor towards it, searching for a source. The truth that drove her was that she might find who had begun this fire, who had taken those lives; if she knew and could do something about it, perhaps she might buy peace not only for herself, but for Lucien, and everyone else who had suffered something that day. Someone had to pay for what had happened to them.

Her back to the door, her concentration so firmly fixed on the past, Elain failed to hear the carriage approach the house, or the footsteps as someone entered the room.

“Elain, dearest,” the smooth, feminine began, “What are you doing here, in my home?” The voice was familiar, tipped with venom, and Elain felt a sinking in her chest as she remembered that she had let the hansom driver leave, that she had told no one where she was going.

Standing, Elain turned and brushed the dust from her dress and tried to steady her breathing. “Amarantha.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around for this story, those of you who are still reading! Sorry updates are much slower in coming now.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain remembers what happened the night of the fire, when her powers awoke. In the meantime, Lucien and Azriel realize that she has left in the night.

_Ten years ago_

  
Every evening after dinner, Elain insisted that her mother and sisters join her by the fire. Despite being indoors and her father’s absence, it was her favorite part of every day. There was a sort of comfort in knowing that before she fell asleep each night, she would be surrounded by family, safe, and that Feyre and Nesta would be forced by their mother’s presence into getting along.   
  
It had become increasingly difficult to get those two to see eye-to-eye since Nesta reached a particularly argumentative adolescence and Feyre decided that, on becoming 10 years old, she was nearly an adult and should be treated as such.  
  
What happened afterwards went like this: their mother would kiss them on the head in turn, checking that their hair was braided, nightgowns proper, rooms tidied of toys, books, or in Elain’s case, flora, before escorting them to bed and tucking them in. Elain and Nesta shared a room, but Feyre had moved into her own since it had become clear that the three growing girls were too much for one space.   
  
Her mother emanated warmth and the scent of embers and violet perfume, and during her childhood, these had come to represent a safe sort of peace and quiet. The press and weight of her body as she leaned over Elain to kiss her good night was a security she had never known afterward.   
  
Once their mother had left them, closing the door behind her, Elain would whisper to Nesta, secrets about what she had been up to that day, questions about the story Feyre had been reading, exclamations about how much she loved their parents, until she was gently shushed and told to go to sleep, for heaven’s sake.   
  
When their mother fell ill, Elain had kept up their habit of coming together in the evening for as long as she was able. Feyre quietly took over her mother’s responsibilities as it became clear that she was too tired to care for the household in the same way she had. Elain’s energy seemed to double, as if making up for their mother’s lack. Nesta’s always-observant eye became even more vigilant, and in their father’s case, critical.  
  
When she passed, Elain made sure that their mother held a bouquet of violets in the casket.  
  
It only made sense for the girls to try to keep up the tradition. For Elain’s sake, Nesta and Feyre came together each evening. Feyre read to them, practicing, but missed having their mother there to correct her pronunciation. Nesta braided Elain’s hair, her unsure fingers cold against her neck. But Elain wouldn’t complain.   
  
It didn’t take long for their evenings to come to a halt. After all, they were children, young women who missed their mother, who hadn’t learned how to get along without her. In one another they saw absence, what they had lost. Elain turned to her sisters as replacement for their mother, Feyre tried to become her, and Nesta pre-occupied herself with resenting their father for not calling for the doctor earlier.   
  
In a way, it was only a matter of time before things went horribly wrong.   
  
Six months passed, and the household struggled to find a new normal. Everything changed again when, in the dead of night, in silence that had become empty rather than calming, Elain was woken by the sound of knocking on her father’s bedroom door. She sat up in bed and looked over to Nesta, who was already sitting, her knees tucked in close to her chest.  
  
“What’s going on?” Elain whispered. Nesta looked as if she had been listening for a while, and indeed she held up a hand to silence Elain, straining to hear what was said. Elain waited, also trying to hear. All that came through the walls were footsteps, first from bare feet, and then louder footfalls, from someone wearing hard-soled shoes. Elain frowned. Usually the servants would be much more careful, always shadows who took care of the household without making much of their own presence. No, this was another visitor to the house.  
  
Nesta threw her bedding to the side and stood, reaching a hand out for Elain. They kept quiet and walked in unison. The hallway that led to each of their rooms was brightly lit, and Elain rubbed at her eyes, trying to reconcile the number of people in the house with how early in the morning it was.  
  
“Let’s go downstairs,” Nesta said quietly. They would be small as mice, unobtrusive, or some adult would surely begin ordering them about, telling them to stay out of the way.   
  
Feyre placed a hand on the small of Elain’s back, and they became three.  
  
In the foyer of the home, Nesta guided them to rest next to a small table that had no purpose other than holding flowers and a framed portrait of their parents’ marriage. Out of the way of the stairs, of the thoroughfare that this hall had become, they could observe.  
  
Elain recognized her father’s clerk as one of those who scurried about in a decidedly un-gentile manner. He had brought along his son - Nathanial, she thought he was called - and their eyes met for a moment. They had dressed hastily, shirts untucked, the boy’s buttons lopsidedly fixed. His father extricated himself from the boy’s grasp impatiently, grabbing him by the shoulders to settle him somewhere out of the way, as Elain and her sisters were.   
  
She lifted a hand to invite him over, to join in solidarity against this hustle and confusion created by the adults in their lives, but Nesta gripped her shoulders tightly, and Elain wanted to cry out. Instead, she squirmed under her grasp until Nesta hissed in her ear to stay still. Around them was chaos; adults, those towers of beings who seemed to have an understanding of the world she would never achieve, were now aimless, first going into this room and then that, turning mid-stride to return the direction they came, a fist lifted in the air as they murmured to themselves.   
  
Finally, they saw their father. He pushed his disheveled, thinning hair back from his forehead, approaching his clerk and murmuring with him in soft tones.  
  
“What’s going on?” Feyre demanded. She stepped forward, away from the comfort of her sisters. She tugged on their father’s sleeve and he looked down at them, blinking as if remembering that he had daughters.   
  
“Feyre,” Nesta hissed. “Get back here.” She glared at their father, making it clear where her loyalty lie.  
  
“Feyre,” he said, lowering himself to sit back on his heels, “We need to leave. Can you pack some things? Just some clothes, nothing unnecessary, you understand.”  
  
Feyre nodded with comfort in finally having been given a task. “How long will we be gone?” she asked.   
  
He stood, then reached down to pet her like a cat. “For a good long while, I believe.” Turning on his heels, he snapped at their maid, giving instructions as if their world wasn’t about to be upended.   
  
But even now, in her stomach, Elain felt the possibility of losing even more than she already had. By the time they each had a small bag held tightly in their fists, the boy was gone, along with most of the staff. There was a roaring noise that had gradually taken over the chatter of people, and something deep inside of Elain felt a mortal fear.   
  
“We need to go now, girls.” Elain spun around to see her father, buttoned up in a coat, his cane gripped so tightly in his hand she wondered it didn’t break. “Outside. Now.” His hand came down on her shoulder so heavily that Elain would have fallen, if Nesta hadn’t already gripped her elbow. She turned, looking up the stairs once more, for what she knew, instinctively, was the last time.   
  
Stepping outside was like walking into a different world. Elain hesitated on the steps but was quickly pulled along by Nesta. In the distance, the night sky had turned orange and sirens sounded. Accustomed to a world of soft fabrics and gentle, motherly caresses, laughter ringing through a home and the warm comfort of home, Elain wondered if she hadn’t been cast into Hell.   
  
Elain’s foot caught on a root and she fell to the ground, her hand slipping from Nesta’s grip as she cried out. Her temple struck a small rock and as she sat up she placed her hand on the wound, surprised to find blood, to see that she could be injured. In a daze, she let Nesta pull her to her feet and they kept going, running away from the last place she had seen her mother alive.   
  
Over the din, Elain heard someone call her name. It wasn’t a scream, or a yelling, but nearly a whisper, a breath that hinted at her name. Confused, she turned, only to be lifted from beneath her arms and shoved into the carriage.   
  
When she was finally settled, she turned. “Nesta, did you hear something? Someone said my name.”  
  
Nesta refused to answer, instead ensuring that Elain’s skirts wouldn’t get caught in the door as it was shut.   
  
Elain rubbed her eyes, sure that might make the world become a more sensible place.   
  
The carriage began to jolt along the road. Another whisper came from over her shoulder, and Elain whipped her head around to catch the culprit. No one was there. She shouldn’t have been able to hear anyone whisper. The city was in chaos, and there were only the four of them seated inside. Herself, her sisters, and her father.   
  
“Mother?” Elain barely let the word travel past her lips, wishing to recall it so that it might remain a secret between herself and whoever was attempting to communicate with her. She glanced around her, glad that the others were too preoccupied with the outside world to notice that Elain was having an entirely separate experience.   
  
Nesta looked over and wiped at Elain’s forehead impatiently, trying to pull blood away from the skin. It was already drying, and created a stain on her skirts.   
  
On impulse, Elain pushed herself to her knees and turned to look out of the window at the rear of the carriage. All she saw was destruction, orange and yellow flames tearing through what she had considered her home since birth. This was a place that should have been eternal. Much as her mother should have lived until after she was married and had children of her own.   
  
In defeat, Elain turned around, allowing Nesta’s tugging at her clothing to pull her back to a seated position.   
  
Perhaps in the morning, she would wake in bed. Perhaps in the morning, she would wake without phantom voices speaking her name. Laying her head down in Nesta’s lap, Elain closed her eyes as tightly as she could, and prayed for her wishes to come true.

_Today_

  
Lucien woke up alone in bed. This wouldn’t have been entirely unusual, were he not still in Elain’s room. Lifting his head from the pillow, he blinked, slowly taking in the daylight. There was no sign of her, but he wasn’t surprised at that. Elain’s presence in the house was a quiet force, a steadying influence he wasn’t sure how they had managed without before.   
  
Lucien pressed his face into Elain’s pillow, taking in her scent mingled with a violet perfume. If only he had the press of her skin to accompany it, and the slight smile she allowed herself when she realized she was no longer on that cold stone floor.   
  
He might have given up what little he had left, to ensure that he saw that smile every morning. Now, its absence created a coldness in his home, despite the care he was sure the servants had made to light the fires.   
  
By the time Lucien was dressed and made it to the dining room for breakfast, he was frowning. It wasn’t like her to leave without word. Elain may not have been boisterous or energetic, pushing herself in where she wasn’t wanted like many society ladies who had married off their daughters and therefore nothing better to do, but still… there was something ominous in this absence.   
  
Sitting at the table, he shook out his napkin and placed it in his lap. When one of the kitchen staff came in to check the sideboard, he bit his tongue. Why would they know where Elain was, after all? She may have been as polite to a beggar as she was to Mrs. Van der Lyden, but that didn’t mean that his servants knew her business. Lucien slopped food onto his plate, thinking of how his mother would have scolded him for being so careless. But he didn’t care. Not when he had no idea where Elain had gone.  
  
Sitting, he shoved his food around the worn china of his plate, the eggs and sausage growing cold as he waited.   
  
Azriel joined him after what seemed like an eternity, but was in fact less than a quarter hour. Lucien noticed his eyes scanning the room for Elain, noticing the empty seat where she normally sat before a word was spoken. Lucien shook his head, and Azriel sat with a sigh. It was quite a bit more emotion than he normally would have shown, so Lucien spoke. “I’m not sure where she is. I’m waiting for Mrs. Bates to leave word. I’m sure Elain told her about where she was going.”  
  
Azriel gripped his silverware in his fist, not nearly as convinced as Lucien that they would have answers. But he obeyed, eating as little as Lucien did as the uncomfortable uncertainty hung in the air.   
  
The tension in the air grew to be too much after merely moments, and Lucien requested that Mrs. Bates join them. When she entered the room, her eyes searched for the missing woman every bit as much as his own had, as Azriel’s had. Lucien’s stomach dropped.   
  
Mrs. Bates lowered her head in deference, waiting to find out why she had been summoned.  
  
“Do you know where Ms. Archeron has gone?”   
  
“No, sir. I came to see if she wanted me to bring her tea this morning, but, well…” She paused waiting for Lucien to allow her to move on. To move past the uncomfortable fact that Lucien had been in her bed.  
  
“Yes, yes.” Lucien waved his hand dismissively. “So before that, she said nothing? Where is her coat?” He stood from the table, nearly disturbing his chair. Azriel joined him.  
  
“She said nothing to me either. But I might have an idea of where she has gone,” Azriel said. “This thing she is doing, it might not end well, for her.”   
  
It seemed that Elain and Azriel communicated in a way that he might never understand, but Lucien would take whatever bit of knowledge he might have to share.   
  
Lucien threw his napkin to the table. “Let’s get her.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucien and Azriel track down Elain, just in time to save her from a precarious situation. She learns a truth she wasn’t quite prepared for.

Elain woke and opened her eyes. Blinked. A light shone in her face. Was it the sun, or some other source? Surely the sun wouldn’t shine so brightly in her room. Mrs. Bates would have made sure to draw the curtains, or Lucien would have risen from bed at the first hint of sunrise, and then padded quietly back to her side.  
  
Lucien.  
  
Elain reached out for him and her hand met cold, hard wood. Dragging her fingertips along the surface, she felt the grain of a floor that had been worn by time and use, pulled a splinter up beneath her nail. She raised her hand to her face, watching the bead of blood gather. Pulled out the sliver of wood and sucked away the red, waiting for it to appear again.  
  
Perhaps they had taken her into that back room of the asylum, and she had wandered out with a bandage on her forehead and all hint of personality wiped from her face. She had watched so many others go through the process that had been denied her. A new procedure, they said. To make the patients more docile, they claimed.  
  
If only they had allowed her that same peace.  
  
Perhaps they had traded out her cold stone cell for one of wood. But then why was her clothing of so many layers? Where would she have found a corseted dress, these silk stockings, this wool coat? Even the ribbons on the front of her dress would have been taken. They were a potential method of shortening her time there, as if she didn’t know they referred to suicide. The word was rarely uttered there, refusal to give it life being the unspoken rule.  
  
A second sliver entered her heart at the idea that the past several months had been a delusion. It came from her throat and traveled down to settle in her chest and twisted until she made a fist and clasped it against herself. She might be able to pull it out, if she tried. There were moments that she wanted to forget, but she was reminded of an overwhelming sense of belonging that she was afraid she was on the verge of losing.  
  
She looked at the ceiling, refusing to allow reality to tell her that her experiences of the past months were false. She could endure nearly anything but the idea of having another home, another family taken from her.  
  
The scent of embers and violets filled Elain’s nostrils, and a voice whispered her name. It was a voice she hadn’t heard since the night her home burned.  
  
Focusing her vision, Elain turned her head towards the source of the blinding light. It wasn’t quite so overwhelming now. It was indeed the sun, though one could hardly say that it was coming in the window. Where a window had been was now a gaping hole in the wall. Its edges crumbled, blackened from flame. Her parents’ bed had been there, just to the side of where the sun came in.  
  
She wasn’t at the asylum. She was home. Elain pushed herself up and strained her ears. “Mother?”  
  
A soft laugh that closely resembled a sigh answered her instead.  
  
“I was wondering how long you would lie there.” The cold, feminine voice came from the corner of the room. Elain heard a rustling of silk skirts and turned her head.  
  
Amarantha was walking towards her, holding the lace of her hem from the ground, keeping it from the splintered and rotting wood.  
  
Elain scurried to a seated position and then pushed herself up to standing. She was stiff - how long had she been there? - and dirty from the soot and ash. She pulled the panels of her coat in tight, tighter than it would have been were it buttoned.  
  
“What happened?” Elain was wary of receiving any truth from Amarantha, but she had little choice. She backed away. One step, then another.  
  
Amarantha stopped her advance and crossed her hands at her waist. “I came in to check on the state of this place. I’m here to check on several of the buildings, in fact.”  
  
Elain flinched at the word _buildings_ , as if this hadn’t been a neighborhood, as if families hadn’t lived and slept and laughed and played and grown here.  
  
“And then what happened?”  
  
“Then, my dear, you collapsed. I’m not sure what you expected to see. Or who. A ghost?” Amarantha smirked.  
  
The fact that Amarantha had let her lie on the floor, unconscious, without calling for help, was no more surprising than the idea that night would follow day. Elain let this part of the story by the wayside. “But why here? Why my house?”  
  
Amarantha tilted her head. “Your house? My dear, I own this entire area now. These are no one’s houses.” One corner of her mouth lifted in a smile.  
  
Elain felt foolish, having been reduced to a child who still believed that everything that had been before would always be. Of course their father had sold the land. Yet, it was a struggle to keep from claiming the place as her own. If she turned her head, surely Feyre would come running around the corner, tugging at her skirts to go play outside. The fireplace near Amarantha should have been surrounded by chairs where she had sat with her mother and sisters each night. Where were they? Who had taken them away?  
  
“You own this?”  
  
“Yes. Your father, not long after you left, signed ownership over to me. It was only fair, since I had inspired him to make the investment. He might have made a nice profit, but for the fire. And no one else would take this off his hands. After all, who would want to deal with this mess?” Amarantha ran her hand over the mantle of the fireplace, disgust clear on her face. “It would have sold it at a loss, you see. Any buyer would have asked him to first make the land… presentable.”  
  
“But it was you,” Elain said in a strangled voice. “It was all your fault.”  
  
Amarantha’s expression changed from cold to genuinely confused. “What was my fault, dear?”  
  
“The fire.”  
  
Amarantha clamped her hand over her mouth but a laugh escaped. Soon, she was doubled over, holding herself up on that same filthy mantelpiece, loosing a sound that was surely the most genuine thing Elain had ever heard come from her lips.  
  
Elain turned around, reciting the names of the flowers she had grown in her garden as if it were a prayer.  
  
A soft breeze touched her cheek.  
  
“My darling girl,” came her mother’s voice. “You must stop looking now. Cease this search. There is no one to blame but fate and bad luck.”  
  
“No,” Elain whispered. She shook her head, looking around the room at somewhere to direct her disbelief. “It’s her fault. It has to be.” She strained her ears, searching for more answers, but none came. Elain felt a reassuring hand at her back, phantom lips kiss her cheek, and then nothing.  
  
Amarantha laughed, long and loud and without mirth. “You think that this was my fault?” She gestured around the hollowed-out room, sneering at the filth she encountered.  
  
“Yes. I do. It has to be you. You have to pay for what happened.”  
  
“I am not your villain, girl.”  
  
Elain slumped back down to the floor and began to retreat into herself. Amarantha’s phrasing had been simple, concise, and truthful. Elain knew she wasn’t lying. She had no reason to lie, not when it was the word of a former insane asylum resident against a society widow. She might have confessed to any manner of crime, and it wouldn’t have mattered. Amarantha had the luxury of truth, and all Elain was left with was a sense of loss.  
  
For if Amarantha were truthful, if the fault lie not with her but with some chance of nature… if Elain’s mother’s voice was also to be believed, then that meant that nothing in her life had reason. All of the tragedy, losing Graysen and even this ability to hear that which no one else could, it was all senseless. There was no grand plan, no way for Elain to place the blame where it belonged.  
  
Elain wanted to reach inside of her skull and pull out the piece of her that had been knocked loose, or been lost, or replaced, or whatever it was that caused her to know what she shouldn’t. It served no purpose but to torment her. Falling to the ground that night had done nothing but tease her with the voice of her mother once, and then mocked her by solving others’ mysteries, unlocking others’ secrets, but doing nothing to help her solve her own.  
  
She reached up to cover her mouth, but a sob escaped before she made it.  
  
“Elain?” Lucien’s voice came from the entryway of the house. It sounded as if it came from through a thick fog. She had to remind herself that mere moments ago, she had thought him part of a strange, sweet dream.  
  
This, at least, she could cling to. She made her way back up to her feet.  
  
“Lucien?” Her voice came out in a croak, but he must have heard. His footfalls were heavy on the steps - caution, she wanted to cry out - and he found her.  
  
Amarantha was already in the process of pulling on her gloves, preparing to leave.  
  
Lucien strode to Elain, grasping her arms, looking into her eyes. “What are you doing here?” He inspected her clothing, her limbs, kissed her forehead before turning to the room’s other occupant. “And with her?” He shot an accusatory look at Amarantha.  
  
Azriel wasn’t far behind Lucien, and he stood in the path between Amarantha and the door, as if to guide her out.  
  
“Lucien.” Amarantha nodded her head in greeting. She pointedly ignored Azriel.  
  
“Mr. Vanserra,” he corrected.  
  
“Lucien,” she said again. “I happened upon our dear Elain this morning. Purely coincidence. It seems that we both have an interest in this particular building. Well. Hers is more sentimental and nostalgic. Mine is more practical. And legal, in fact. You do see where I am going with this, don’t you, dear?”  
  
Lucien stepped around Elain to stand between them. “Leave. We will take care of Miss Archeron, and you can go about your business. You won’t see us here again.”  
  
Elain grasped Lucien’s arm and peered around him. Amarantha glanced between the two men. A hint of annoyance had finally crossed her face, the only sign that she might not, for once, have the upper hand.  
  
“Be sure that I don’t.” Amarantha buttoned her coat with a smirk. “Do not attempt to blame me for any of this, Lucien.” She looked down her nose at Azriel, though he didn’t care enough to notice. “I was merely checking on my investment.”  
  
“Your investment?”  
  
“Yes. If you remember that such a thing exists. It makes quite a large part of your own family’s fortune, does it not? Investment in steel?” Amarantha finished the buttons and adjusted her fur collar. “Well, it’s the source of your father’s fortune. Not so much your own.”  
  
“Get to the point, Amarantha.”  
  
“Are we using Christian names, then? Well, Lucien, I own this building, and all those surrounding. You can ask your precious Miss Archeron all about it. _A bientôt_.” She waved her hand as she left the room, taking her leave like an afterthought.  
  
Elain collapsed into Lucien’s arms. Her body shook as if she cried, but no sound, no tears came. Lucien stroked her hair, calming her.  
  
Amarantha may have been telling the truth, but it was one thing for Elain to know the reality of how her life had changed, and quite another to understand it. The absence of the why - the real goal Elain sought - had evaporated. It had never existed, in fact. But she refused to accept that answer, no matter who spoke it.  
  
With renewed determination, Elain pushed Lucien away. “I have to know the truth. I need to know where it started. She did this, somehow. I have to find out how, so that I can…” Her voice trailed off.  
  
“So you can what, Elain?” It was the first time Azriel had spoken. He looked at her with such an open acceptance that she nearly cracked. Again.  
  
“I need to make it right,” she said desperately. Elain wanted to make her voice larger than the room they were in, large enough to swallow the past and every mistake she had made. “I wanted to find the voices, so they could tell me who was at fault.”  
  
Azriel stepped closer. “And did they? Tell you?”  
  
Elain shook her head and wiped away tears. It was futile. They came too quickly, of their own will. “No. My mother. She told me it was no one’s fault. But it can’t be. If it was an accident, then…” She looked back and forth from Azriel to Lucien, hoping they would understand the hopelessness of that reality as well as she did.  
  
The men passed a look between them, communicating in their own way. Elain waited for a response.  
  
“Elain,” Lucien began, “We are going to take you home. There is nothing left for you here, my love.” He kissed her forehead and wrapped his arm around her shoulder.  
  
Something inside of Elain shattered. It began with a slow unraveling, an undoing of every truth she had ever known. Eventually the pieces that came apart were larger and larger, until there was nothing left but a hollow space inside her chest that still, somehow, managed to ache. As if it had a right to remind her of the absence. As if it were allowed to exist, having no one and nothing to blame it on.  
  
Everything became dark.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azriel and Lucien take turns coming to visit Elain, each dealing with her encounter with Amarantha in different ways.

Azriel opened the door and entered Elain’s room so quietly that she almost didn’t notice him.

She was lying on her side, starting at a wall. Staring at nothing. Wondering how she had come to this point, where apathy was an easy cover for the storm that raged inside.

Elain’s eyes were open, but they had the look of those patients who came out of that back room in the asylum. She started at nothing, but where the other’s expressions were of empty joy, one found bitterness and hopelessness in Elain.

Lucien and Azriel had taken her home, taken care of her. Of course they had. What other choice was there? Leave her on the doorstep of the asylum? Lucien had far too much decency in him to abandon her now. And Azriel had a kindness in him too, a loyalty that was easy to inspire and nearly impossible to dissuade.

Not that she might have done such a thing now. No. Elain had lain in this bed, her bed, for days now, trying to figure out how she had managed to reach this point in her life. She decided that she might as well take advantage of the kindness of these men. If she were to leave - for she had the means, should she want to go - she would have to deal with the details of life, the planning, the propriety, the organization, and all of that seemed far beyond her current abilities.

Elain felt herself much more useful now as an object of pity. Something to distract Lucien from his own pain, a curiosity for Azriel.

And she had wanted to be more. To find answers that had eluded her for years. To do it on her own. And then to take her vengeance in hand.

All of that had gone to hell so quickly, and so Elain retreated to the most familiar role she knew. That of the poor, darling ingénue. Falling into a swoon was the expected reaction, of course, but she surprised herself by being earnest. A week ago, Elain would have thought herself above such a display of weakness. Now, she realized that the old her was still there, waiting to come out and cripple her.

A bitterness had taken root in Elain so deeply that she felt it seep from her skin. She watched Azriel circle around the bed, trying to catch her eye. She wondered if he could see it, like a smoke, escaping in thin tendrils that would no doubt infect him. She wanted to yell at him to leave. Her throat refused to cooperate, and she returned her gaze to the wall.

Azriel pulled a chair up to the bed and rested his arms on it. “Elain?” He brushed her hair away from her forehead. She blinked, her eyes refusing to focus on him.

“I’ve brought you some tea. I left it on your bureau, for when you are ready. Just let me know and I’ll have Mrs. Bates heat some water for you.”

Elain continued staring at the wall. Azriel reached up to stroke her arm. His fingers traveled down their length, and she was pleased to find that he hadn’t even raised goosebumps.

He sat back against the chair, nearly defeated. So soon. Elain was nearly disappointed in him. A small fraction inside of her, deep, down in the dark, was pleased that he might give up.

“I’ve also brought something else, if you would like it. It can make you feel better, for a while.” Azriel slid a dark brown glass bottle from his jacket pocket and held it out to her.

Elain sat up in bed, finally focusing on something. She looked from the glass and its label, to Azriel’s face. He was earnest. As if he had learned nothing from his visit from the doctor those months ago.

She pushed his hand away. “No.”

Azriel gripped the glass bottle tighter, but kept it offered to her.

Elain looked up at him. “Do you know what it did to Lucien, to see you like that? Do you think that you matter so little? Do you know what it did to me?” Her voice trembled. “How could you do this to him? After we cared for you, and made sure you healed? I thought that you hadn’t gone to the druggist in months, that you were…” She searched for a word. ‘Happy’ wasn’t quite right. Whole? Better? None of those fit. None of those seemed possible for any of them.

Azriel put the bottle back in his pocket. “It’s empty.”

“What?”

“I’ve come into this room several times a day since we got you home, and all I saw was a girl who felt sorry for herself. I thought I might do something to shock your sensibilities. Or make you feel for someone other than yourself.”

Elain clutched the blankets to her chest. “How dare you.” She could feel heat rising in her cheeks. “Do you know why I was there at my house? Do you have any idea what I lost?”

“Yes,” Azriel said. “We have all lost something, Elain.”

She blanched. But surely, Azriel’s pain did not invalidate her own? “Then you should know not to pretend that there is no effect. That one can walk away unscathed. You should know better than anyone, Az, with your weakness for that habit.”

He failed to so much as blink. “You would berate me for weakness, when you lie here, practically chained to your bed?”

Elain shoved away her blankets and moved to the edge of the bed, forcing Azriel to back away. She placed one foot on the ground, then the other. Stood. Held her fists at her sides and looked defiantly at him.

He smiled. “There she is.” Turning to leave, he called over his shoulder. “I’ll fetch Lucien for you.”

As soon as the bedroom door shut behind him, Elain sat back down. She had stood too quickly and her head spun, but nearly as much from what Azriel had just wrought from her as from the effort of getting out of the bed she had been in for days.

Lucien came in quickly following Azriel’s departure. He came to stand in front of Elain, grasping her shoulders and looking into her eyes.

“Elain, are you alright? Az told me you needed me.” He touched her face, checked her pulse, fussing over her every bit as much as she knew he would.

“Lucien, did you become a doctor while I was asleep?”

“What? Oh. I’m sorry, Elain.” He sat next to her on the edge of the bed, holding her hand in his own.

“Lucien?”

“Yes, Elain?”

“I need to lie down again.”

Lucien stood and shifted, laying on her bed and creating a space for her to collapse into. He began to stroke her hair when she settled into position, waiting for her breathing to slow and become regular. Instead, she spoke.

“Lucien, I need you to understand something.”

He made a sound for her to continue.

“I need you to understand why I went to the house. Why I was so disappointed to find… what I found.”

Lucien petted her hair as she spoke.

“I went in search of answers. The night that the fire began, that was the first time I heard a voice that wasn’t there.” Lucien’s hand stilled, but only for a moment. “I fell, and since then, I’ve known things. Father lost everything, we lost the home where we had last been a family. I went in search of an answer.”

“What answer did you hope to find?”

“I wanted it to be her. Amarantha. You know that. I suppose that what you don’t know is that I needed to point my finger, to find someone to punish.”

“But Elain, even if the fault lies with nature and chance rather than a person, that doesn’t mean you must blame yourself.”

Elain pushed herself up suddenly and glared at Lucien. “You are mistaken. I bear no blame for this, nor I place any on myself. For any of it. I didn’t deserve to be put in the asylum. I only wanted to help.” Her façade began to crack. “I was woken in the middle of the night when the fire began. And I only go to see all of these victims with you, expose myself to gossip and censure and disdain, because I want to help you. To help them.” She wiped away a tear, though her face had harden again. “No, there is no blame here. Don’t worry that I cast any upon myself. But I would like to find out where to place it. So that I may make it known to the world, so I may point my finger, and make myself useful.”

“But Elain, there is no blame. Not for the fire.”

She laid back down, a bit further away from Lucien this time. “No. No there isn’t.”

They stayed in bed, listening for one another to fall asleep. Stubbornly, they both refused.

“Do you know what happened, when you collapsed?” Lucien’s voice rumbled through Elain’s chest.

She shook her head, pressing her cheek into him.

“You fell. I tried to catch you by your elbow, but I wasn’t quick enough. When you fell to the floor, it reminded me of when I found you. When you were lying there in a pile, like something used and discarded. It didn’t matter that you were wearing a finer dress, that you had a healthier complexion than you’ve had since we met. My mind went to that place, when I first found you.”

Elain thought back, to the way that Lucien’s shoes had shined despite the shit they had travelled through to find her cell. The assumptions she made about him based on those, his tailored but worn pants, the way he spoke to her with kindness.

“I was afraid, for the first time in ages,” Lucien continued. “I thought that I couldn’t lose you. Even if you recovered in body, your mind… I didn’t know what to think. I know that you weren’t there on legitimate grounds, but still, I wouldn’t blame you for losing faith, losing your will. And so seeing you on the floor of that burnt out room, Amarantha having left you there without another thought, after what she had told you.” Lucien’s voice became limned with anger.

Elain waited for him to continue.

“I realized, Elain, that I would do whatever it is you need me to do. Whatever questions you need answered, whatever resources you need. If only to see you healed, better.”

Elain looked up at Lucien. “There is something I need to tell you.”

“Anything, love.” He kissed her forehead.

“When you came to find me, I accepted your offer not because I thought I could help others. Not just to leave. Or at least, it wasn’t entirely for those reasons.” She took a deep breath, her fingers twisting themselves in the fabric of Lucien’s shirt.

“Why did you accept, Elain?”

“I wanted to use you. Your resources, your trust. I wanted to take everything you had to offer, and use it to my advantage. I wanted to help others. I always do. But my first thought was myself.”

Lucien smiled. “I figured as much.”

“What?”

“Elain, do you think that I would take a woman with your reputation, from the place you were in, and not think of every possible scenario? Not keep my eye out on you? I trusted you in the sense that you wouldn’t hurt me physically. Or Azriel. But I gave you enough credit to look out for yourself, all the same. Even if it cost me something.”

Elain bit her lip. This revelation shouldn’t have come as a surprise. She was used to being eyed warily, to being whispered about. She just hadn’t supposed that distrust might come hand-in-hand within someone who still chose her. Someone who still decided to have faith in her, despite what they knew.

“Thank you.” It was all she knew to say. It fell pitifully short of what Elain owed Lucien, owed Azriel, but they were the only words that began to express what she felt.

Feeling herself become more confident again of her place in the home, Elain spoke. “We need to keep an eye out. For Azriel.”

Lucien shifted so that he could look into her face. “Elain, what do you know?”

She stared him, refusing to look away, unflinching. “The drug may take hold of him again. He offered it to me, to help me sleep.”

The color drained from Lucien’s face. “What did you say to him?”

“I told him that I have no need. I have no problem with the night. It’s the monsters that prowl during the day that I am more concerned with.”

Lucien eased himself away from Elain and stood. He went to the window, clasping his hands behind his back. “Where is it now? The bottle?”

Elain propped herself up on one elbow. “I imagine it’s safe, tucked away in Azriel’s room. He told me that it was empty, but I don’t entirely believe him. I think he might have come up with a story that seemed plausible, when I refused.”

“I see. And I imagine you didn’t get a close enough look to see if the seal was broken?”

“No,” she admitted. “Will you take it from him?”

“No.” Lucien looked out of her bedroom window, but appeared to see nothing. Finally, he turned back to Elain. “I will handle this.”

Elain stood and gently shifted Lucien so that she tuck herself in behind him. Reaching her arms around his waist, she leaned her cheek on his back. He clasped her hands and sighed.

They might, between the three of them, have enough strength to get through the day, to share, so that one of them might bend in order for another not to break, while the third remained upright and strong. It was not unlike, Elain thought, what she imagined her parents’ marriage to have been. Though she realized, after a time, that it was always her mother who had been forced to stand, while her father relied on her steadiness.

Elain wanted to be that for Lucien, for Azriel. But some days, she could barely keep her head above the wave of her past that threatened to consume her future whole.

“Elain, you said that you needed answers. That’s why you allowed me to take you from that place. And you didn’t find what you wanted when you went to your home. So what would you like to do, Elain? What would begin to give you some closure?”

“I want to find the Widow. That, at least, is the work of a person. A person I can find, and cause to pay for what they have done.”

“Then allow me to be of assistance, dearest.”


End file.
